The Unbelievable Life of the Forgotten Spartan
by The New Mandalord
Summary: A Spartan, long thought dead, has returned with an army and swears vengeance on ONI and anyother faction who did him and the other Spartans wrong. He is more then a soldier. He is more than a Spartan. He is nothing. He is Umbra.
1. Plan

It was hot, loud, and then, all of the sudden, empty and dark. The world went dark. Not just a darkened sky - no amount of nightfall could produce such despairing darkness. No, this was the dark of captivity, confinement, blindness. Nothing visible, no light, no shadow, only a smothering visual shroud. A stark contrast to the blinding lights and sudden bursts of color just before them.

I struggled at first, trying to make sense of my surroundings. Where am I?

Nothing but blackness was the answer, and an instant later a far larger question looms up, erasing the first. Who am I?

A wave of panic rises deep within, bile carried along its edge, threatening to drown me as I realized I cannot remember. I do not know who I am!

Calm, I told myself. Calm. I forced the panic down, pushing it back with peer will, refusing for it to take me over. What do you remember, then?

Nothing. No, brief flashes. A battle? No, a war. A man striking me with a stick. Other kids torturing me while the adults watched. And a woman who... They all tried to break me. Horrid, horrible fiends, great monstrous beings the lot of them. All of them surrounding me, dwarfing me. Betrayal - though I cannot recall the act itself, but I can still taste the bitter realization of it.

Abandonment.

Desperation, a lasting frenzied struggle. The feel of cold metal clamps pinning me down, choking me. Killing me. The light fading around me as the numbness creeps in.

And now this.

Where am I? I stretch my senses to their limit, probing my surroundings. The results, though hazy and disjointed, from a single conclusion.

I'm being carried.

I can feel the movement, the gentle rocking motion. Not directly - something cushioning was under me.

I tried lashing out, but my limbs will not cooperate. I feel sluggish, drained - drugged. All my senses dulled, body leaden, but nerves oddly on fire. I am burning from within! My flesh crawls, creeps, melts and morphs - I have no control over my own form anymore. I'm changing.

Around me I can hear other people speaking. Saying,

"Serum graphing at eighty percent."

Or,

"Heart rate is at above stable levels. Continue with the test."

And,

"He is a perfect subject."

They are not confined like I am - they are free to move, though their mindset are oddly blunt. They are my captors, conveying me in my confinement.

The memories started to come back to me. All of them. That woman, Professor Catherine Halsey. Head of the Spartan-II program, and the woman who caused all of my pain. The man, Chief Pretty Officer Mendez, the Spartan trainers and Halsey's dog. His training methods are harsh and inhuman. He and the others trainers used electric batons to us. However, his trainers would occasionally use rifles with tranquilizer rounds to incapacitate the runners.

Then came something, that just burns me. Halsey said, _Out there, you are nobody. Nothing. Here, I can make you into something._

Those feelings of abandonment and desperation turned into revenge. If I was nothing to her, then that is what I will become. I shifted and stirred in my restraints as it penetrated every cell, changing my DNA to suit my purposes.

A muffled voice asked me for my name. I just answered "Umbra."

* * *

><p><strong>New Sydney Wastelands, Hyperion. October 2548.<strong>

The sun was a merciless yellow eye glaring down at a landscape of rocks, hard-baked earth, the hardiest of scrub brushes and the most stubborn of life-forms. There was not a single cloud in the star light sky to mitigate the intensity of it's gaze, and the promise of relief in the purple-haze night was many hours away.

A drop-pod streaked across the sky far above the oasis of New Sydney like a tiny shooting star, one of many hundreds of meteors that had burned up over the town in the last few days. Even if the town residents had bothered to glance up, they would have thought nothing of it; the meteors shower had become a near constant recently as the belt of space debris spun past just a hundred kilometers above Hyperion, and it would not cease for the next three days.

But the residents of New Sydney were not the type to look skyward. They once had to watch their own backs from the authoritarian UNSC soldiers or risking getting their planet glassed by the Covenant. But ever since 2540, all of that fear has died with the appearance of the mysterious man named Umbra, and his Raiders.

With no loyalty to the UNSC, and a blitzkrieg tactics towards the Covenant, one had to wonder how Hyperion became safe once again in this time of chaos. Since the arrival of Umbra, all Covenant ships have retreated with the stories of one of their Gods living in the sector - and he was not happy with their actions. Any UNSC that tried to set-up a bases there had to face hard hitting hit-and-run raids by Umbra's Raiders. These raids, often small in size, came under the cover of darkness and at lightning speed. Often, the guards on duty would not be able to return a single shot before the Raiders ships were speeding away; weigh down with weapons and other spoils. So, ONI finally came down to a drastic decision. Though the Raiders were fighting against the Covenant, they were still a threat to the UNSC's ships. So where a coventional army couldn't beat them, maybe a Spartan could.

Spartan-087 ran a final check and found the all systems online and functioning in her Mark IV MJOLNIR Power Assault Armor Extra Vehicle Assault variant. Although the drop-pod interior was cramped and hot, and the seat's padding was thin enough for the titanium support bars to poke through, She hardly noticed. Her armor was altered to keep her cool on the dusty planet and still give her a great amount of protection.

She settled her helmet around her head, checked her heads-up display, and breathed deeply. The helmet was light but powerful, interfacing with her suit's computer to provide a sophisticated readout that constantly sample her surroundings and helped her spot and target anything that moved - even though it looked like a fish bowl.

A suppressed MA37 Assault Rifle was a check, for medium range shots. Sidearm in place for close quarters. Her heart rated increased only slightly, then settled back into a strong and steady thump. She was like a machine. Spartans feared nothing. Why should they? For the UNSC's most highly trained super soldiers, fear was an alien concept.

Spartan-087 went over her orders one more time. ONI intelligence had lost all contact with the Hyperion Sector ever since Umbra and the Raiders took over. Her orders were to first observe any raider activity. Major Spaulding and his 23rd Orbital Drop Shock Troopers would be on standby to provide support.

Spartan-087 would be inserted covertly into the suspected Raiders territory and investigate the report in stealth mode, gather whatever information she could, take out Raider members, and signal for pickup.

In and out, fast and clean, just the way she liked it. The locals wouldn't even know she'd been there. With luck, she'd be back on Reach before dinner.

Then why had the hairs suddenly stood up on the back of her neck?

She didn't have time to think it through. The drop-pod struck with a roar and shuddered that rattled her teeth and thrusted her forward against the harness. She saw great clouds of red dust kick up as the pod hit the ground, and then all movement ceased.

_Touchdown. One minute, fifty-eight seconds until self-destruct._

Spartan-087 unstrapped herself from the harness and waited for the door to swing open as the metal ticked in the sudden silence. It revealed a whirl of red dust kicked up by the pod and swirled merciless winds. She'd landed right in the crater filled with the stuff. She looked out. This plant was an abomination: dry,craggy, lifeless stretches of rock and dirt all the way to the horizon line, and her helmet failed to completely eliminate the foul stench of brimstone in the air. The dust instantly coated everything, including her pod, her armor, her assault rifle, and her helmet, lending a reddish blood-tinge to the light that filtered from above.

The Spartan wiped her gauntlet fingers across her HUD, smearing it red.

_Ah, Hell. _Cloaking would be all but useless her; her suit could vibrate the dust off, but it would gather again too quickly for it to matter. Better wait until she was close to the target.

* * *

><p><em>We have movement in the Vulcan Remnants./_

_/Meteoroid?/ _

_/No. We have movement./_

_/Covenant, then?/_

_/No. It seems to be human. I'm gonna guess Spartan, second batch from the design./_

_/Any signs of a number?/_

_/Hold on. . . . Spartan-087/_

_/Kelly-087. She's fast, faster at close range./_

_/Orders?/_

_/She's fast, but also predictable when taunted. Lay down speed traps, EMP mines, and trip-wire traps. I want her alive./_

_/Yes, sir./_

* * *

><p>She jumped down, ducked her head and ran for the nearest rocky outcropping far enough from the drop-pod, which was already starting to degrade. In another few seconds it would be nothing more but space debris slowly burying itself beneath the dust. If Raider agents were actively monitoring the sky, they might have seen the drop-pod, but with luck, they would have decided it was simply another meteor.<p>

Even so, she had to assume they might know someone was coming. Of course, that didn't matter much to a Spartan.

Sheltered from the wind, she accessed schematics of the planet from her suit's computer. A prior deep-space scan had revealed a structure of some kind within a kilometer of this spot, and what appeared to be ramshackled barracks or shelters clustered around it, although nothing of the sort existed on the map. This was a kilometer away from New Sydney, and none of the locals would venture out this far. It was a perfect location from which a terrorist cell could strike at UNSC targets. Several had been hit in the region lately, and this was quite likely the Raider's base.

_Time to go to work. _She loped westward, keeping the HUD active and scanning for life. Nothing moved but the dust swirls, whipping jagged surfaces of a rock clean and then covering them up again just as quickly. Her screen became thick with the stuff, coloring everything with that bloody tinge.

Five minutes later the HUD indicated she was nearing the location. She slowed to a fast walk.

_There. _A shape materialized out of the cloud, a larger structure made out of metal and granite about sixty meters away. From the design, it did not look human made. The Forerunners?

Spartan-087 paused, astonished. A Forerunner vault filled with untapped technology? She'd heard nothing about any ancient Forerunners relics in the sector. If the raiders found anything, then they could wage a fourth front against the UNSC with the same fire power of the Covenant.

Raiders and UNSC relations were fragile, to say the least. They never tried to full out attack other Inner ring colonies, so the technology was being retrofitted for some other purpose, she though. _But what?_

Spartan-087 felt something bad, literally. A large, metal gantlet impacted on Spartan-087's side, sending her crashing her into a bolder. The red blood dust blotted out her HUD view even worse then before. All she could see was a large, dark figure come down for her. She rolled from another impact, that destroyed the bolder on contact. Using her suits clearing feature, the dust was vibrated off giving the Spartan a clear view of her enemy.

She couldn't believe it, her enemy was wearing some unknown, and bulky made, MJOLNIR armor. Only Spartans could wear that.

"State your name and number!" She demanded. The unknown assailant just gave her a two finger salute, and then finished it with the middle finger. With the power of jets in it's large boots, the assailant blew more dust in her face as he headed towards New Sydney.

The last thing Spartan-087 needed was an entire raiders regiment coming after her or hunting Major Spaulding and his ODSTs. Being the fastest Spartan in the entire Spartan program, Spartan-087 chanced after the assailant leaving her own explosion of dust.

The blood dust could not stick to her helmet at the speed she was going at; so she could see the white vapor flames that the her assailant left. She pulled out out her MA37 and unloaded an entire clip on it, all of the rounds ricocheted off the unknown armor.

Suddenly, a high voltage surged through her body. Her HUD and computer went black and her armor automatically went into lock-down mode. Dizziness washed over her. The last thing she saw in her visor was her assailant standing over her and saying, "We got her."

Then blackness swallowed her.

Spartan-087 awoke with a start. Every muscle burned and it felt like someone had hammered her head. This was a good sign: it meant she wasn't dead.

She tensed her muscles against an unyielding pressure. She blinked to clear her hazy vision and saw she sat propped against a wall, in a high-security bunker, and she was stripped clean of her MJOLNIR armor; leaving her in just a black sports bra and matching shorts.

Then she saw a dozen Raiders in the warehouse, watching her. She felt exposed enough, being out of her armor, but the visor-covered eyes coming from the Raiders made her feel completely naked. They all hefted guns that seemed human, but were bigger then any hand-held weapon that the UNSC had in her arsenal.

The Raiders parted as a man walked up to her. He seemed like he had seen his share of battles. Unkempt white hair, dark brown skin, and his right eye was blocked out with a x-shape scar while the left had unusual red color to it. He was wearing regular civilian clothing, compared to his armored-cladded Raiders, and he was sniffing the Spartan like a dog.

"You definitely smell other worldly." He growled. He then snatched the dogtag off Spartan-087. "Kelly-087? A Spartan? ONI is using Spartans against us? I don't know whether to feel honored or laugh my ass off."

Kelly jerked against her inert bindings. The more she struggled, the weaker she felt.

"No need to struggle," He said. "Or struggle if you want. We've bound you to specially made binding that injects a fairly powerful sedative into you the more you struggle. UNSC standard for dangerous felons." He smiled. "So use that legendary strength, see how far it gets you."

Kelly kept her mouth shut.

"Relax," the man said. "My name is Sam Fallon. Second in command of the Raiders."

"You planned this all for me," Kelly said, her voice was tired and hoarse.

"Me, no? I'm the just the head muscle. Our boss is the brain, and his girlfriend... oh, boy. Anyways, you Spartans have put a pretty big dent in any sector that tries to succeed. General Graves at Camp New Hope: thirty-two dead and one MAKO drone destroyed. The destroyer _Origami_; five years ago. Oh, and lets not forget what means you had to take to get General Watts. How many innocent civilians did you kill in order to get _one _guy?" He cupped Kelly's face in his hand, then moved it around her neck. "You don't look like murderer. Then again, the pretty ones are always homicidal maniacs."

Kelly struggled, but she was just injecting herself with more sedative. The binds were now starting to feel like a mountain of steel. She has to focus, how was she going to get out?

If John, Linda, Fred or Kurt were here then she wouldn't have to worry about it. They would have all attention focused on her, so that the other Spartans would complete the mission with no attention focused on them. But she was alone, and the rest of Blue team was on another mission.

"I'll take it that you're Insurrectionists." Kelly said hoarsely.

Sam just chuckled and crossed his arms. "Not exactly... Just look around you; see the bigger picture. For the longest time, Hyperion was devoted to Earth, everyone here still is. We even took in refugees from other sectors. But when the Covenant came to glass them, it wasn't the UNSC or ONI or _Spartans _who came to save the day. Just three people and a bunch of washed out punks is all it took."

Kelly leaned forward, injecting herself with more drugs. "Then understand this; we are also the good guys. We do not go around and glass planets from orbit."

"True. That's very, very, very true." Sam said, applaud Kelly's rebuttal. "But, the funny thing is, the thing that really gets us pissed, is that the Covenant had the decency to overtly kill human, instead of abandoning them for death."

He was right, to a appoint. In order to protect Earth and the Inner Colonies, the UNSC had to pull all of their forces back to protect the major colonies. Leaving the Outer Colonies to fend for themselves. This worked like a double-edged sword, however. Since they abandoned the Outer Colonies, this ment massive food shortages and a bitterness for the UNSC's more militant ways of handling business. Kelly saw no way of arguing with Sam, so reasoning might work.

"Tell me, if you have a garden, what is the first thing you do to help it grow?" she asked.

"Huh?" Sam cocked his head. "These are planets we're talking about here, not plants. And I thought you Spartans were smart."

"In the contents of our conversation, the galaxy is a garden. The first thing to help a garden is to trim away all of the weaker limbs that are still clinging to the stem, regardless if they bore fruit or not. Am I right?"

Sam rushed her with a clenched fist. He did not make contact with her abdomen, but the force coming from it made Kelly feel out of breath. Like she was hit with an iron bar.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes. No, no, no, no, _very _no,_ HELL NO!_" Sam chuckled and clucked like a madman. Kelly could tell be his action, she was dealing with a man who did not run on logic or instinct. "What kind of parasitically disposed logic is that?Still, no! INCREDIBLY, NO! What good is a confusing metaphor like that, I ask you? I didn't understand a damn thing about that. I come at you with logic, and you talk about gardens, what sense does that make? Not a whole lot, _understand?_" Kelly grasped for air, and her body felt like it was going to keel-over if not for the restraints. "If you understand, I expect an answer."

She did not answer, just continued to gasp. "What's your answer? You don't have one. In that case..." He wound up his fist and put most of his strength into it. "_you can be just another common corpse!_"

Someone stopped Sam's attack. Another armor clad Raider approached, saluted, and whispered. "Sir, the _Damocles_ is pulling back. To heavy much damage."

The _Damocles_ was the frigate that Major Spaulding and his ODSTs were stationed on. It was also her ticket off world. Sam smiled and said, "Perfect, take the prisoner to Umbra."

He then turned his full attention back to Kelly, who was passed out from the shock. "Hey, hey, hey, hey! No reason to faint, is there? I was kidding, or corse! Aw man, I feel full of guilt now! Oh, no! I'm starting to get excited now! What do I do! This sensation is like sadness, mingling and glee, or the sensation you get right before a trip! So, in light of that sensation, forgive me, okay? Someone, bring her to the boss pronto, understand?"

"Yes, sir!" they responded. They did not seem shook-up caused by their CO's slight fall into madness. If anything, they were used to it.

"Also, get me a grenade launcher!" Sam ordered, his glasgow smile had not faded away. "I need to reveal myself of this sensation somehow!"

* * *

><p>File Report/

/Candidate Record: Spartan-013/

/Andrew - -/

/Sex: Male/

/DoB: Aug. 20, 2511/

/Birthplace (City): New Legaspi/

/Colony/Region: Mars/

/System: Sol/

/Attributes: Unknown. Andrew has the possibility of being a Jack-of-Trades, but lacks the motivation. Possible candidate for the Hell Spartans./

/Notes: By all standards, Andrew is passive and lazy for a Spartan. With that note, he seems to enjoy trying to escape (he made it to Earth the last time he tried). Trainers report that he enjoys relaxing and sleeping rather than participating with the other Spartans. During the standard psych analysis tests, Andrew frequently asked if the interviewer was comfortable in her position or if she enjoyed her current job.

/His passive-assertive traits will make him seem weak towards the other Spartans. He has taken a no kill oath, and found a style of fighting that brings down his opponent fairly quickly/

Umbra continued to scroll down the report on his tablet. After literally absorbing the information, he hit the DELETE button and all information about Spartan-013 was gone. He scrolled over to a different application, and an full body AI appeared. It appeared as a young boy with slicked back red hair and he wore a sleeveless blue shirt, edged with white and grey pants.

"Dead Space, how is production on the Forerunner Shield World?"

"The uncovering effort is at eighty-one percent, sir." The AI said. "The Sentinel manufacturing facility is now under Raider control, and have nearly mapped the entire core."

"Perfect. Continue with production." He switched off the tablet all together. He then switched to a private COM. "Eliza, what is that status on the frigate?"

"_The rest of the Harpies have looted their main cargo hold." _the woman named Eliza said. _"All of their guns are melted, so they are retreating for repair."_

"Very good, darling," Umbra said. "Pull Harpy company back for some R&R. We'll plan a strategy afterwards."

_"Right away, My Lord."_

"_Hey, boss,_" Sam cut in on a different COM. "_That prisoner is ready for you. Better get down here before she passes out - again._"

* * *

><p>Kelly was strapped to her seat. She had the same drug-pumping restraints on from earlier, only this time they were pumping it into her wrists and neck. They gave her some clothes, a clean grey-sweat and matching pants.<p>

She controlled her breathing to be in a Zen-like trance. All of the time training with Linda seemed to pay off, because she was constantly being pushed against by one of the guards; to make sure she was still awake. She calmly opened her eyes as the door opened.

The man known as Umbra was very mysterious, even to ONI intelligent leads. He-she-it, kept to the shadows and had no attiquate pictures taken. Now, five feet in front of her, Kelly found the leader to the Raider rebels. Umbra looked like a man, being nearly six-two, his body wrapped completely in gauze, and wearing a poncho made out of faded leather. A large, decorated shoulder pauldron made out of a slab of titanium-A, seemed to keep the poncho together one the left side. His only way to see was a small slit for his ever changing color eyes.

Behind him was a woman in her mid twenties. She was pretty for a rebel, in fact she would some of those cat-walk air-heads a run. She had deep red hair whose color changed like fire, and in fell past her waist. She had the greenest eyes imaginable, like fine-cut emeralds. Her body looked like a model, but she was dressed modestly in stolen military clothing. And her skin had the strangest orange tint to it, that made her hair and eyes stand out even more.

Using some kind of alien dialect, the woman ordered the guards out of the room. They replied without thought or hesitation. Umbra pulled up a chair and sat in front of Kelly. With a raspy voice, he said, "Hello, Kelly. Long time, no see."

"You know my name?"

"I know alot about you, and the rest of the Spartans." Umbra said. "Spartan-087, what is your name?"

"You already know. It's Kelly."

"Yes, but Kelly what? What is your family name?"

Kelly knew she had another name, before her training. That, however, was part of a life that seemed more dream than real now. And that other name was just a shadow in her mind, as was the family that had gone along with it. Still, if she going to get anywhere with Umbra, she struggled to remember.

"I see..." Umbra showed no sign of doubt when he spoke, and he thought with the same distant stare like Dr. Halsey. "Does the name Flores ring any bells?" Kelly's expression gave him no answer. "I guess not. But know I have to ask, how is John and Sam?"

A spur of energy went through Kelly's body, breaking through her restraints and grasping Umbra around his neck. Umbra seemed unfazed by Kelly's actions, as if he was anticipating it, the same could not be said about his lieutenant. She had a knife hovering near Kelly's jugular. The heat radiating from it made it seem that it was plasma technology, so Kelly unhanded Umbra under the risk of possible decapitation.

With a simple nod from Umbra, his lieutenant moved the knife and forcefully sat Kelly back down. With a sigh, Umbra then said, "Relax, Kelly. I'm not going to hurt them in anyway, shape or form. I respect them too much."

"Who are you, really?" Kelly asked.

"You've been patient long enough, I think you deserve that much." He pulled one end of his gauze and started the quick process of unwrapping around his head. He had short, blonde hair, fair skin youth youth grey-blue-green eyes. Which a cheshire smile, he said, "How have you've been Kel?"

Kelly was shocked. For the first time in her life as a Spartan, she felt absolute shock. She had a thousand questions for him, but one one slipped out. "Andrew...?"

"I'm glad you remembered," Umbra, or Andrew at this time, said, "I would have figured that my name would've been forgotten."

That part was true. After five Spartans escaped a few weeks after they returned to Reach, only Daisy, Ralph, and Joseph returned alive; the other two used their sidearms to commit suicide. As punishment, and to set an example, Mendez had the Spartan train until their altered bodies collapsed from exhaustion - that took an entire week. Even afterwards, anyone who muttered the escapees names had to face Mendez and the trainers again.

Kelly did not remember the other Spartan who committed suicide, but she remembered Andrew. He was lazy. He would keep to himself and if he could he would sleep all day. During every test, he would do enough to get by and cut every corner to do it. Though, even with that said, he did take a shine to Red team. He did pal around with Jerome and Douglas, and seemed pretty close to Alice. But where they stayed, Andrew ran.

"How are you still alive?" Kelly snapped. "Halsey told us that you committed suicide!"

"The bitch would say that." Andrew said with a slight chuckle in his voice. "Trust me, when I found out what they did to me... did to us. Suicide was the farthest thing from my mind."

"What are you talking about?" Kelly asked with another unknown emotion to Spartans: confusion.

"The secrecy of the SPARTAN-II Program could not be jeopardized, but the disappearance of seventy-five recruits for the program would have created some..._ difficult_ questions. But if the children never vanished, there wouldn't be any questions to ask, would there? The clone lived a 'life' in our place. The life that was originally intended for us... What the sadist bitch failed to mention is that the clones happen to begin a slow decay two months after being hatched from the tank."

"I can see this being offensive, Andrew. Going home and finding out you've been replaced never is. But how can your experience speak for us as a whole?"

The look in Andrews eyes changed. Not like the raging aliens that Kelly chose to fight, but more like someone who is searching for something. "Because those clone were supposed to represent us, Kel. 'The clone lived a life in our place,' but in the end they died at an early age... Not a day goes by when I don't think about them, what pain they - our parents - went through,or tearing off Halsey's head and throwing her 'research' to the masses."

"I get it now." Kelly felt like she had a grasp on Andrew's motives. "You created this rebellion and defended human space for revenge. And you," she looked at the woman named Eliza. "Are you really allowing him to manipulate you for this crusade of misinformed sense of self righteousness?"

"Watch your tongue!" Eliza snapped. Her hair turned into violent shades of red. "I will not let you speak ill of the Projects savior, you ONI whore!"

"That is enough, Eliza!" Andrew ordered. "I will not allow you to speak ill of the Spartans either. They are like us in many ways. You speak poorly of them, then you speak poorly of all the Projects."

"But, my lord," Andrew just gave her a look, and she withdrew. "Y-yes... my lord."

Andrew turned his attention back to Kelly.

"I am sorry for all of that. To answer your question, I did not start the Raiders to help me achieve my own personal agenda, that will come only as a small foot note. What I intend to do is to create a galaxy that no longer needs ONI. Where you and John and the rest of the Spartans can experience an everlasting peace." Andrew took a deep, content sigh. "I will create utopia in this galaxy. A peaceful and prosperous one. A sanctuary for those who are alive, and yet in turmoil; even for the races in the Covenant will experience this. I might not accomplish it in this lifetime, but, the first step has already been taken. And when I eventually die, which is highly unlikely, God will offer me paradise, and I will say 'thanks, but heaven is back in the living world. I don't need your paradise, or your approval."

That was when Kelly finally realized nothing she could say or do to him could alter his plans; he was dead serious. Those eyes, like they were staring straight through Kelly at something far away. Like he pitied her. If she forgot everything from this day, she would remember those eyes.

"My lord," Elizia said, after being given a new report. "There has been a new slipspace rupture. It's the UNSC."

"Then lets give them what they came for." Andrew wrapped the gauzes around his head again, becoming Umbra once more. "I have a plan in mind for the future, Kelly, with the Spartans best intentions in mind." He placed his left hand firmly on Kelly's forehead. "To do so, I cannot allow you to report our progress." She tried to break free from his grip. She could feel certain memories fading and being replaced by something completely different. "When you awaken, you will find yourself on a UNSC frigate heading back to whichever frontline ONI seems fit."

Kelly's eyes rolled back into her skull, and her body fell limp.

* * *

><p>Night settled on Hyperion, and the dust storms settled for the next day. The nights on Hyperion looked alot like days on other planets. The sky was blue and blurry, and the only visible beings in the sky was the moon, Medea, and the neighboring gas giant of Atlas.<p>

A team of Sparrowhawks flew close by, kicking up red dust and left glass trails as they hovered close to the desert floor.

Umbra sat on the edge of the Forerunner library, looking out on the ever shifting dunes in one direction and an endless supply of Forerunner knowledge in the other. In a burst of heat and fire erupted near him, and Eliza sat next Umbra.

"Do you want to talk about the elephant in the room, or should I?" Elizia asked.

"I'm sorry how I behaved back there." Umbra said. "Those memories... they buzz around in my head like angry hornets."

Elizia rotated, loitering. "Are you sure _you _don't want to know?"

"About my family?"

"Yes."

"Ever wondered why I haven't looked for myself? You, or everyone here, must have."

"Nothing is more important than knowledge, and awareness is all we are. That is what you taught us."

"But, motivation makes us curious. Humans... sometimes can step back when they know they're not going to be able to handle knowledge. That is one thing we Projects can never do."

"I can't hold hands or enjoy coffee without setting it a blaze. I'm sure you can understand why my priorities are the same as yours."

"Okay, Elizia, I'll tell you. I don't want to know because I'm ashamed of myself. As long as I don't who my family was, I can avoid thinking what I could have done... _should _have done to spare them from whatever misery they went through. _I was a Spartan. _Even as a kid, I could have hacked the system to find them, but I escaped - some other kids managed, but I was the only one to make it the furthest. I should have let them know I wasn't dead and that the child they buried wasn't the real me. I should have saved them from that."

"In theory. So why didn't you?"

"I'd love to blame the Eden Project, and being imprisoned on Imperial Down for so long. But looking back on it I wonder if I was just too cowardly or driven on revenge for what the Doctors did to us. Why didn't I even try?"

"You were busy. That's why. You were taking care of other, like Anthony, Zaps, Glacia, and the other Projects. Your parents would've been proud."

"It's funny actually, I talk about my folks and family like I've known them my entire life. As if I have solid memories of them. But I don't. The only thing I see are outlines and darken shades." Umbra sighed. "What about you, Elizia? What happened to your parents?"

"I was an orphan, picked up of by the Doctors on Ysor, and experiment on until your revolution." Elizia said.

"Thanks for trying to make me feel better." Umbra said as he wrapped his poncho around her.

"I'm not." she said as she made herself comfortable. "Just telling it as it is. Your are our leader, and you are the living-god to all Projects. You have the power of awareness that most people wish they had."

_Awareness is all we are._ Yes, that was true. For his teachings, he should at least live by them; it would help with public relations. He thought his Raiders, struggling to find words for all that terrible stuff from the Spartan's files, stuff that would make any normal human being want to throttle the life out of whoever plunged their parents and children into that kind of hell, and almost weakened.

"What would you say to your parents now?" Elizia asked. "Purely curiosity. If you found them now, what would you say."

Umbra had no idea. Sure he was not Andrew any more, nor was he completely human, but he'd shut it out of his mind a long time ago. Maybe the other Spartans had too, but he got a feeling that the unbelievable amount of experiments preformed on him had not quite erased him as thoroughly as Halsey and the Doctors wiped the other kids clean of their pasts."

"Can't really make up for lost time," he said. "If they are still alive, then they'd have reached some kind of acceptance of it. What would be the point of of giving them more of a shock and unhappiness."

"People have reunions all the time. They say that any time together is better than none."

"Elizia, you trying to break something to me?"

"No. I said _curiosity_. But when we break the news about every single dark secret that ONI has, we might find parents coming out of the woodwork. There'll be no avoiding it then. We'll be stuck with every parent who ever lost a child between the ages of six and nine, just grasping at the straw. And that is going to be a_ lot_ of bereaved people."

Eliza's business was intelligence, thinking through every angle before the Raiders acted. The one thing she had not analyzed was what would be unleashed in the remaining colonies when they brought ONI down with their own sins. Part of her wanted to ignore it, and the other part saw things in terms of the impact on the UNSC. The UEG, and some factions of the UNSC were okay with them, but ONI was their main target.

She was going to have to explore more of those grey areas another time. Right now, she was far too comfortable.

"We'll worry about that later," Umbra said. "For now... I think it's 'bout time we kicked this revolution into overdrive."

* * *

><p><strong>Hello readers out there, this is your lord and Master - The New Mandalord. This is just a minor editting. I'll try my very best to add a new chapter sometime soon.<strong>

**For those who just turned in, or have not read my profile, you are going to be lost at the concept of Projects. Pretty much, the Projects are super-powered immortal WMDs who were created in the Eden Project, hens the name. Umbra, who was one of the original seven - he was gluttony - rallied the other Projects and rebelled. But close to all of Projects believes that he is dead, because he went down with Imperial Down. Witch is why he looks the way he does here.**

**On the technical side of things, I was inspired by Firerwolf's work and decided to make a story that contrives of random events during Umbra's revolution. Sometimes you'll see familiar faces, other times they'll be my own. Hopefully I can do a cross with Firerwolf's zombie chapter. (Fingers crossed).**


	2. Answers

After just two weeks of roaming about this shattered place, just the memory of the water that once filled these great lakes was refreshing. But like everywhere else here, the memories were like a rusted razor.

Umbra's progress slowed as his Exoskeleton splinted and crumbled caused by it's weight. Umbra swung open the door and threw himself out, it was as hot as hell in that Exo. The dock had once been painted a bright blue, perhaps the same color of the water it stood above, but now the little chips of paints left flaked off as the dock shattered and beneath was only grey. The same grey of the empty lake bed below, where a few trees and grasses attempted a comeback where a fish farm once stood. The same drab grey was everywhere on this harsh, forbidding world that was once the UNSC's crown jewel. Now look at it, just a husk-shell, a living fossil of it's former self. Buildings remained untended and unhealed, and it stay that way forever, as the planet was severely glassed in certain regions,and her human masters had nothing left to claim here.

Buried under the docks was a large foot-locker, filled with un-radiated Poland Spring water and freeze dried food. At least Umbra had some food and water if the hunger and thirst sensation became too much. A gust of wind blow, kicking up the thin layers of dust and salt into the air. A hat was also in the guest. Worn out leather and faded, it seemed almost fitting that Umbra would wear it.

He stored the rest in the back compartment of his Exo, appropriate named, in big painted letter, 'the Hurt Locker.' Exoskeletons, in general, are devices that Umbra's raiders improved upon; they were once UNSC Cyclops. Exoskeletons are one-man, two-legged mobile battlesuits. They are heavily armored and heavily armed; a chain gun, steel claws and missile battery. They are also mobile, so perfect for operation like this one, with debris and wreckage to negotiate and clear. Big as the Exo was, though, there was not much room for the pilot, and inside it, squished into the central cavity like meat rations in a tin, was Umbra.

He had seen only two things break away from this grey in the weeks he had explored this desolation. The first were the blue skies stretching from horizon to horizon, which would seem beautiful if it was not from the lack of climate equaling clouds, offering heat that reached towards that managed to tip around eighty degrees in the morning, and take a nose dive well below zero at night. The other were the column of smoke he had sighted two days prior, far to the west. It was to this smoke he drove himself, through he knew where that lonesome road would lead.

To follow that ominous smoke sign he had to cross this dead hole of a lake and the dam at its far end. From the elevated vantage of the dock Umbra took a reflexive look around the horizon, scanning for threats, before casting a quick glance into the sky in the vain hope of seeing a vessel in orbit far above the planet's surface. He slid the ration in a back compartment, fastening it with a triple-click of buckles and weight-centering shrug. As he turned back to find the shore and a way across the lake bed, he closed off the sound of heavy crunching sound of the Hurt Locker's heavy feet on the brittle grass and remembered the lake he and the other Spartans used to train in.

Not that it would matter anymore, even if the UNSC came back.

Stark in the late afternoon light, the battered skeletons of boats littered the lakebed and reminded him of the days he spent on similar boats during his earliest training as a boy. Now, as a man, he came back to merely search for answers.

So, on smaller, intact boats similar to the rotten hulks he now skirted, Umbra learned as a boy to move and to fight. Striking and leaping from vessel to vessel, the young warrior learned balance and timing and teamwork as well as ruthlessness, as not all of the razorfish in the lake considered him as prey. Those trainees who were not fast enough or brave enough to dive under and catch their dinner, went hungry that night. Those who were emerged hardened both by the use of their skills and determinations not to suffer a similar fate of their unfortunate comrades.

Now here he was at the bottom of the lake, no razorfishes waiting to challenge his strength - just the crumbling boats, the stunted grey trees, and the occasional crunch of bone beneath the matted grey grass.

He first heard that hollow crunching at his step days ago, and he knew the sound had been human bone. In his first days, while walking through human towns now wearing away to dust, Umbra had stopped to loosen many such bones tangles of tough grass or a covering layer of dust and dirt, spending much time to wonder who these humans were. Now that it had been weeks since he had arrived, he had stopped looking for their answers. Just leaving small grave markers as he passed along.

Usually he would find these bones alone, spread far from the rest of whatever body they came from by wind or war or animals, though he had not seen a single living creature or even tracks anywhere in his intended, the death on this planet had been completed. He'd found full skeletons as well, flesh long since torn or worn away, usually inside the few structures with more than one wall remaining or even a bit of roof left waiting for the insistent pull of time and gravity to bring it crashing down.

He'd found bits of armor and weapons and human vehicles of war, and an equal amount of of Covenant soldiers, usually cracked methane breathing tanks sitting amidst the bones of squatty Unggoys, or 'Grunts', as humans called them. Once he had found a giant shield plate from a Magalekgolo, a 'Hunter', and he wondered how the humans had managed take down one of those giant living battering rams. But Covenant remains were still scarce in this sector. This planet had the greatest defense, next to Earth, but it was very wide-spread. So the remains might be might be light in some areas, and heavier in the other. He wondered for a moment whether the events that followed the invasion might have been different had the humans been more prepared, expecting the on coming assault, but he knew that it would not have mattered. It would not have mattered at all.

He no longer stopped to inspect broken bones, and he did not know whether to care. His path was set - head up and eventually over the dam and wherever the smoke called him. There he hoped to find an answer, and that was enough for him.

When Umbra's Exoskeleton reached the top of the dam, he saw a dry scratch of a riverbed leading down from the dam's base to the to the beginnings of a wilderness preserve - at least this one had some green and life to it. He could feel his goal getting closer. With thunderous BOOM, the Exoskeleton landed into softer mud, which gave Umbra hope that life would one day return to this planet. He knew that the many lives who fought each other out of malice or religious purpose will become the fertilizer to help rebuild the planet the humans once called Reach.

The Fall of Reach was considered to be the largest engagement in the Human-Covenant war. There were heavy loses on both sides and the Covenant managed to glass the planet. The UNSC and ONI propaganda tried to pass it off as a strategic victory, a covert team was able to get some sort of deus ex machina to find an even bigger deus ex machina, and approximately two-thirds of the Covenant fleet was wiped out. No of that mattered now.

Reach was the the human's shining star, their fortress among the stars. Greatest defenses of all of the Inner colonies - next to Earth - and largest amount of military bases. Not even the many Insurrectionist groups tried to attack or steal from it. But, again, it did not matter to Umbra.

He just needed answers, that was all.

Rising from these thoughts he knew the sun's setting would make it difficult to push onward safely. The Hurt Locker's sensors found what looked like a small control structure farther ahead down the stream bed and Umbra made the preparations to set his Exoskeleton down in preparation for passing another light alone. With only a small picture of Elizia to keep him company. In the photo, Elizia wore a long pink sari-like skirt with a partially-zipped purple leather vest with a v-neck line which showed a good percentage of her breasts but also showed her lean, flat stomach. She was in a pose that would make the battle-hardened individual turn into putty. On the bottom, in her hand writing, said, 'Something to keep you company when I'm not around.'

Umbra always kept this picture for two reasons. One, it was the cleanest of all the pictures she gave him. And two, it gave him perverse thought which, in turn, remained him that he was still human.

As Umbra's eyes closed as he pulled the slit shut and he began rest-breathing, he listened again for any sounds of life around him. A pack of wild Liyotes, a alien relative to Earth's Coyotes, laughed in the distance as they went out to hunt. The wind blew, scraping leaves out into the dusty wasteland, and as he dropped into sleep his mind spun from the silence of death on the planet's surface to the a woman standing before him thirty-six years ago, when his training as a Spartan began.

* * *

><p><em>Andrew sat there, like all of the Spartans did, just looking up at Dr. Katherine Halsey. She was pretty, but then again, he though that most older women looked that way. He, like most of the children around him, was cold and confused. Some were scared but did not show upfront, because they were more afraid of what their captors would do to them. Andrew looked next to him, seeing a boy slightly old then him comfort a girl who was quietly sobbing.<em>

_"Who are you?" Andrew asked, keeping his voice down._

_"I'm Doug," he said. "This is Alice."_

_Doug had skin as white as snow, and black hair that feel in front of his deep blue eyes. Alice looked Mediterranean or Turkish because of her skin tone, and her brown eyes were reddened by her tears. Unlike Doug, her head was completely shaven bald. Usually girls liked having long hair, but Andrew though it made her look good._

_Andrew then noticed that He, Doug and Alice all had numbers after their first names. Doug's was 042, Alice was 130, and his was 013. That was strange, why did it not say their last names? What would be the point of replacing it with a number?_

_"As per naval code 45812, you hereby conscripted into the UNSC special project, code-named Spartan-II." Halsey said. Andrew had no idea what she was talking about. "This will be hard to understand, but you cannot return to your family. _You have been called upon to serve, you will be trained... and you will become the best we can make of you. You will be the protectors of Earth and all her colonies. In time, this place will __

_What was that supposed to mean? We can't see out parents again? And what was that bit about fighting for Earth? Earth was not his home. And this hardship, what was she talking about? All he wanted to do now was go home and be surrounded by things that made him comfortable. He wanted to stand up to leave, but he saw another boy do the same and was forcefully put down by a handler._

_"Chief Officer Mendez?" She turned to a man dressed in grey and had a box for a head. "Escort the children to the mess hall. Feed them. Get them to bed."_

_"Yes, ma'am." he walked in front of Andrew and the other kids. With one breath he yelled, "Trainees! FALL OUT!"_

_He spat when he yelled, and the scent of tobacco was strong enough to send some of the kids backwards. As the trainers herded them like sheep, Andrew heard Halsey say one thing that he never forgot. "Keep them busy tomorrow. Keep them from thinking about what we've done to them."_

_The years went by quickly, but not painlessly. The trainers beat, branded, and even shot a few kids in order to prove a point. One kid, Jerome-092, actually fought back against one trainer. Stole his stun bouton when he was sleep, and woke him up the same way all other trainers did. Yelling, "WAKE-UP, TRAINEE!" As he merciycily dug the end down._

_The trainer suffered from a heart attack brought on by the anxiety weeks after the attack. This ment a new change to protocol. No more stun boutons to wake the Spartans up in the morning, but it ment that Jerome was now stuck with Red team. Who then got transfered out for what he did to black team. He landed in Gold team, and he seemed like he finally belonged there._

_Doug was growing to be a natural born leader, but preferred heavy weapons more. Could not blame him, competing against John, Fred and Kurt seemed like a lost battle._

_Alice grew up into a lovely young woman. In fact her body was developing at a faster rate then the others, which made all of the guys head turn on a dime. To bad for them though, she was an assault specialist and tough as nails. She and Douglas also had a thing going on with Doug, who preferred her being bald._

_Andrew was the one who did not belong. Not that he was a bad Spartan, no of them were, but because he was a bad soldier. He would attempt to escape, talk back, and even took Mendez's Warthog for a joyride. Sure, Mendez did his best to break him - but he had the strange logic of being broken is the same as being free._

_Then came the augmentations. Every Spartan had to go through it, and a good percentage died from it. Andrew almost did. He want to, so badly. The pain of what they were going to use him for, that he would only be a tool, was too much to bear. Before death took him, a small voice in the back of his mind cried out,_

You're Pathetic!

_Usually in these moments, that said voice would tell him to be strong or not to give in. This had to be the first that insulted him._

Wanting to die, when you haven't come close to your true potential; you're pathetic. Do you want to die?

_"No, but what choice do I have?"_

We all have our choices, son. It is what we do, that defines you.

_"And how can I possibly do that? I'm not a leader like John, or as strong as Sam, or as fast as Kelly-"_

Then you make yourself more then them. If you make yourself more than just a man, more then a soldier, even more then these murderous Spartans; if you devote yourself to an ideal, you become something else entirely – a symbol. A living entity that is worshiped like God. You become everything and nothing. You are a ghost. So I'll ask you again. Do you want to die?

* * *

><p>Umbra awoke with a thin layer of ash and dust covering the windows to the Hurt Locker and his body, the words of that being still rung in his non-existent ears. After the quick dusting, he looked and in the weak morning light saw a clearer view of the wide road that ran straight down into a valley below and perhaps all the way to his answers themselves. The road cut through what might have been some kind of settlement near this lake, and buildings nearby stood largely intact, minus the years of abandonment and decay. As his eyes scanned farther down the valley, Umbra saw that these remnants of building grew more and more feeble, shrinking almost to nothing just before the land changed into another growing forrest.<p>

Umbra had seen this before, on other colony planets he tried to find answers on. The explosive power of plasma lines created a terrible wall of heat and wind and debris when they cut into the surface of the planet, and the rushing force of these walls had scraped everything on the surface clean near the force of the blasts. Structures farther away had suffered less, but everything suffered. That was the point of it. Suffering was the intent.

He passed rows and rows of shattered buildings as he moved down his lonesome road. Sharp, rusty fragments of vehicles poked out from tall grass and young saplings all around him, but he saw less and less signs of Reach's previous' owners.

Reach had to be a real fight for the Covenant. It was said that three of the massive orbital cannons had annihilated so many Covenant High Council believed that after Reach the humans would lose all will to fight, but the opposite had happened. In the following months, desperation drove the humans and they proved to be the most dangerous foes the Covenant had ever faced. It was a glorious time for Umbra to build an army.

Just like the day before, the sun found itself on the opposite horizon and soon it would be dark. Before he turned in once again, he found what he thought to be his answers. UNSC Military Complex, the place where the Spartans were raised and trains. The elements had taken over the compound, and the place where he once felt trapped now seemed to be a fossilized joke.

He searched the labs, the offices, and even a few barracks, but found nothing. No scrap of evidence that would help him fill the hole in him. He then found himself in the office of Professor Mike. He was a nice enough guy and had a knack of nostalgic devices from Earth.

Umbra felt as though he was having a religious experience, and indeed the item he was gazing at worshipfully reminded him of the old-style stained glass windows he had seen images of. It was a piece of furniture, though, huge and solid and curved at the top, like a window. Glass of bright colors covered its front, and if it was what Umbra thought it was, those curving tubes of glass would light up when the machine was activated. And inside - oh, inside was where the treasures were.

Old vinyl records, and in a machine as well taken care of as this, it could be worth alot on the black market. Only question was, was it still is working order?

Using a untampered portable generator, and a few handmade spark-plugs, Umbra was able to get the jukebox to cough back to life. Automatically, the machine picked a record, put it on the turn table, and the Inkspot's _I Don't Want to set the World on Fire _sang out; clear as a bell. It seemed almost fitting, not only as Professor Mike's taste of music, but also it seemed like an obvious innuendo about the state of Reach. And besides, Umbra always liked the Rat-Pack kind of music.

Umbra then searched for the desk, find an Colt Single Action Army revolver hundreds of years old, with a belt holster and several boxes of Wolfe forty-five millimeter bullets. These bullets were considered to be contraband by the UNSC and illegal for civilian usage the UEG, but one of them could stop a charging Brute. Plus, getting these caliber of bullets made for this antique would be expensive, so the less he shot it the easier it will be on his wallet.

The gun itself was a beauty all on it's own. Though Umbra had taken up an pacifist oath, he did have a fascination for firearms. The body was dirty silver, with a type of vine etching going up towards the muzzle. It had improved iron sights, showing that it had some work done to it and that it was not just merely for show-casing. The handle seemed to be made out of redwood, which was not cheap. So everything about this gun was expensive, meaning if Umbra was never going to use it, then he might sell it.

Umbra strapped the belt on, and started to clean the ionized dust from each little fixture. He worked with machine-like precision and quickness, taking it apart, cleaning it, and putting it back together in no time flat. He gave the chamber a reassuring spin, and pulled the trigger. The gun clicked empty as the gun's hammer stopped the rapid spinning. He fitted six bullets into the chamber, popped it back in, and put the gun into the side holster. He liked the way it felt on his side. It went with his whole desperado persona.

It was completely dark now, and the jukebox was finish on _Easy Living_ by Billie Holiday. Umbra pulled out his photo of Elizia, pulled his eye slit closed again, and drifted off into sleep.

* * *

><p><em>Out of all of the Spartans, Andrew was the most infamous for his escape attempts. After his first night of boot camp Andrew met Serin-019, who had been out that night sneaking around.<em>

_"Are you leaving?" she had asked in awkward English._

_"Yes," Andrew said. "I have my family back home. I need something to pick a lock with."_

_Serin had handed him a sliver of metal from under her tongue, a paperclip stolen from somewhere on the base._

_Andrew had picked the lock with the clip and a screwdriver he stole and they had snuck out from the barracks, using the shadows until they broke for the gates. He got halfway up the fence before the guards turned the electricity on, and Andrew dropped to the ground with Serin, both writhing in the dust and twitching._

_"Good evening," Mendez had said, walking up to look down at them. "I don't recall giving you two permission to leave base."_

_Neither of them said anything; they just stared at the forest off in the distance. So the next week, they used rubber gloves from kitchen duty to help them climb, and the guards caught them on the other side. And after that, it was sprinting across the barren space around the camp. They were hunted down in the forest, but he and Serin learned some tips from Jai-006 and Adriana-111, splitting-up and eluding their pursuers for days. They came after them on the roads past the forest, hunting them down in large teams by Warthog and Pelican._

_But no matter how much Mendez punished them with extraordinary runs, push-ups, latrine cleaning duty, no matter how hard he tried to break them, Andrew and Serin were always planning the next attempt._

_The men who had to catch the young pair paid the price too. The tougher they trained under Mendez's punishment, the harder they fought when captured. Guards got shattered bones, lost eyes, fingers, and toes. They had started tranquilizing them from a Pelican at the end, waiting until they bursted from the forests and shooting them down from the sky. Unfortunately for them, Andrew and Serin learned to tunnel under them and stay low in heavy brush. On one occasion, they made it all the way to New Alexandria._

_They both returned with huge smiles on their faces, and alot of souvenirs._

_Until, one day, three months after the augmentations, the doctor asked for him. Dr. Halsey. Always watching them from a distance, and always scribbling her notes down._

_Andrew had sat in front of her desk, again, but this time C.P.O Mendez stood by his side. He knew he was in trouble, because he was able to stowaway on a ship and make it all the way to Earth's surface._

_"What do you want?" Halsey asked, suddenly looking up from her desk._

_"You call me here, remember?" Andrew slouched in her seat._

_Halsey chuckled. "I did. Do you want to leave, Andrew?"_

_"YES!"_

_The woman who had him snatched away from everything studied Andrew like he was a strange bug under a rock. Or a growth slowly becoming infected. "You understand what you you were told, when you first arrived?"_

_"You stole me! You want me to fight for you. Fight for Earth! It isn't even my home planet," Spartan-013, Andrew, said. "I don't want to be here!"_

_"Yet, you have been to Earth."_

_"I have, you know that. I wanted to see what was so important about that planet. It's dirty, it stinks, and everyone there is a rich-prick. Why would I want to fight for it?"_

_Halsey nodded, and suddenly looked tired. As if she didn't want to do what came next. But her spine snapped straight._

_"Okay, Andrew. You see this?" She picked up a small dart. "Some of you don't have what it takes. Some have folded."_

_"What did you expect? We're just kids!"_

_"Some just aren't ready to be the protectors of the colonies. And that's okay. This dart will induce selective neural paralysis. The next time you break out of the forest, the guards in the Pelicans will shoot you in the head with one of these, and you'll wake up on one of the astroids of Hesiod. You won't remember a thing."_

_A crawling sensation in Andrew's spine told him that this was a down right lie. A memory eraser? It didn't sound quite right, nor did Halsey's eyes look right. Andrew had no doubt that the dart would erase something._

_Andrew swallowed and stared at the dart. "You may also lose more than that. Their are no guarantees. The process is messy, and it's worse with children because they have so few memories to lose. Of corse, you could just continue your training, and your duty."_

_"Why?" Andrew asked, still with hate in his voice._

_"You were an orphan, right, Andrew?"_

_"No. I wasn't an orphan. I know where I was born. I had a mother and a father-"_

_"And how do you know that those weren't just false memories we implanted in you to give you a higher purpose." She asked, with steel in her voice. "No one had noticed you were gone. You had no family, no friends, nothing. You left no imprint on your parent, Andrew._ _You're fighting so hard to leave, when there's nothing for you to go back to."_

_Andrew shook his head and bit his lip._

_"But here, Andrew," Halsey continued, driving her words home, "You have people who notice when you try to leave. Mendez who trains you. And even though you don't have a family, I find it interesting that you constantly seek Naomi out to make your escapes with. Would you miss her if you left? Would you be happy if we just erased your mind with a single shot, erased you name from our computers, and Naomi just... forgot about you?"_

_Andrew just stood there, starring at her. He didn't say anything, but he knew her, and was losing. Mendez could break his body easily, but Halsey could break his mind. To bad she needed one to break though._

_"I'm giving you one final offer, Andrew," Halsey said. "The guards are around the forest tonight-if you escape we'll delete you from our records and it will be like you were never here. But if you are in your bed tomorrow morning, I offer you a family, Andrew, and a place to make your mark for you and the others. Very special things. I swear to you."_

_Under an escort of Mendez and Halsey, Andrew made a one last visit to Serin in the medical ward. She was bound to a wheelchair caused by her failing the augmentation process. She only received the genetic and biochemical enhancements before her body started to reject the rest. While she failed the augmentation, she still possesses a few of the enhancements, although nothing skeletal. So she was not a contorted mess like Kirk or Renee, only surviving in a neutral-buoyancy gel tank, breathing through a respirator, and knocking at deaths door. Serin was not as far Fhajad, who was suffering from Parkinson's disease, and lost his ability to walk all together, meaning she was still useful to them._

_On a normal day, they would spend it talking about what the other Spartans were up to. How Jerome finally beat Jorge in cards, but cheating. How Douglas and Alice secretly became an item. And how John, Kelly, Linda, Sam and Kelly became the new favorites. Today, however, Serin was quiet and withdrawn. Andrew could tell Halsey got to her first._

_"What'd she tell you?" Andrew asked._

_Serin had tears streaming down her cheeks. "I can't tell you."_

_"But your not coming with me, are you?"_

_"No." She said with her natural Serin smile. Her natural brown eyes were turning puffy red, but she smiled anyways. "You know I can't run anymore, anyways. And... I... enjoy this too much."_

_Andrew sighed and gave her a small disk. "The day after tomorrow, give Halsey this. Watch it with her, and promise me that you will not become me or her."_

_He gave her a small kiss on her forehead and left the room. Before they turned the next corner, Andrew could hear his message being played._

"Hello, Halsey,"_ The message started. _"I'm running now, But I had time to reflect on your teachings. You said that I left no imprint, well... Maybe that's true and maybe it's not. I going to create my own goal. Peace. For myself. For the people who I care about. For the people you sacrificed to this so-called form of peacemakers. Don't look for me Halsey, because sooner or later, I'll find you. I don't care if it means that the whole UNSC and ONI goes down with it. Just remember one thing. _You_ started it."

* * *

><p>Umbra awoke again, this time though it was still night. Four o'clock in the morning, still too early to head out. There was no answers for him here, just more nightmares and repressed memories coming up. The jukebox finished it's playlist, and was just sounding off white noise.<p>

Suddenly a bright white light shinned down and flew over. A Covenant Phantom? No, it runs on engines. A UNSC Albatross. Umbra had a new lead now.

He left the Hurt Locker in the base, and chased after the Albatross. Over scorched wastelands and dried up oceans. It flew north, towards an unknown location. He lost sight of it after a thunderstorm, and found himself in the middle of an unmarked graveyard.

He looked under his boot, seeing a sign that read 'Aszod ship breaking yards.' Hundreds of UNSC starships at the end of their operational life were taken apart in the facilities to be repurposed for spare parts and materials, and the surrounding landscape was littered with wrecks of spacecraft. Among them was the UNSC Commonwealth, which was being disassembled in a section of the facility that was under control of Sinoviet Heavy Machinery.

Beside the skeletons of starships, he also found several hundred upon thousand of bodies. More Covenant then human. Skeletons of Sanghellians, Unggoys, and Kig-Yars littered the ground. The weapons were now being consumed by Reach. Where the body pilled were greatest, was where the bodies of Spartan lay. They were overwhelmed by their enemies, and decided to take as many as they could with them.

This just made Umbra think. _"How many are left?"_

He spent the next three days building graves, and burying the Spartans. As markers, he placed their helmets on top of wooden stakes and left their dog-tags, with one tag on still on it, underneath. For the Covenant, he burned their bodies and returned them to reach.

"I am the light of the World, he who follows Me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life." Umbra resided John eight-twelve from the bible. "Rest now, and be at eternal peace."

He strode to the top of the nearby rise and saw the remaining battle scars. Buildings blown away by wind and elements, or by the initial glassing. Only one remained standing, only slightly damaged and seemed like a good place to spend the night. He then noticed that it was chain-locked on the outside, for some reason.

Using a still functional plasma sword he turned back to his night's refuge, cut the chains off and pried the metal door partially open to squeeze his body inside.

His first step raised that familiar crunching sound, and when he engaged his flashlight he froze. Dozens of full human skeletons piled one on another with scraps of clothing and bits of possessions hanging stilly from greying sticks of bones. More bone littered toward a doorway at the other side of this building, and he could tell he would find more remains lingering in the further darkness inside. Men, women, and children must have gathered here in their last moments of their lives, perhaps in hope that the shelter would save them. Nothing would have saved them that day.

But it raised the question, why was the door locked from the outside?

Umbra notices some bones had bite marks in them. Which simply ment cannibalism. _"But if this was true... Oh God."_

Umbra backed out quickly and did not stop to close the metal door in his haste to get away. He could not get far enough from the tomb in the night, but he found a low, partial wall nearby and set himself on the far side of it, facing away from the hidden bones of the war's innocent victims.

The grim discovery took his mind to a file he read, but did not want to believe. UNSC resources were more important then any amount of civilians. None of the other Inner Colonies could hold all of the refuges. So the lesser, the better. The civilians must have though themselves very lucky. Thought themselves saved, even. With their satellites and orbital stations destroyed, they would have no idea what was taking place outside of their structure - until a beam of plasma lanced down and fired down and the winds and burning began. The people might had gathered for safety or perhaps just because being together might have been a better way to die. Any thoughts of escape ended with that chain. For the marks... apparently the remaining survivors got hungry.

_"No one should face something like that alone." _His mind thus burdened, Umbra slept.

He did not have time to sleep long, or relive his memories, when the sound of jets in the distance awoke him. He grabbed hi hat, and chased after it once more.

* * *

><p>SWORD Base, was once an Office of Naval Intelligence facility located near the Babd Catha Ice Shelf, Eposz on the colony of Reach. A few smaller outposts, including Farragut Station and Airview Base, were located near the facility. As of now, it was just a burnt hollowed out shell. Littered with twisted metal Covenant remains, and large lakes caused by the melted Babd Catha Ice Shelves. Climbing up the mountain's side, Umbra made it to a helipad where the Albatross.<p>

On the outside was the insignia for the Office of Naval Intelligence, but inside the large carrier was a treasure cache of Covenant weapons, technology and Forerunner researched preformed by no one else but Professor Catherine Halsey.

"Faith and Begorrah." He uttered, after seeing the cache. No one was guarding it, so he figured to look around. He found a journal, Dr. Halsey's personal journal. Maybe here he would find some answers.

In the journal, several important revelations are made regarding an AI named Cortana and Halsey's relationship with Captain Jacob Keyes and Miranda Keyes. Halsey stated in an indirect fashion that she and Captain Keyes had a relationship and that though Halsey had been close to Miranda, they had drifted apart. It is strongly implied that Halsey is the mother of Miranda. The fact that Halsey reproduced at all, was frightening enough.

In November 2524 Halsey wrote that she was reunited with "her lieutenant" while attending a conference at the University of Calippus, from which it was highly inferred that the two became very intimate. Four months later she wrote a small side note stating "she will have to answer for making me drink decaf," suggesting that she was pregnant. In September, 2525, ten months after her reunion with Keyes, she wrote about experiencing separation anxiety, noting "I guess not hearing her cry wakes me up at night too." Then, on July 12, 2531 on the side of the page, Dr. Halsey wrote, "Jacob has agreed to take her in. I'll miss her, but it's for the best."

It later stated that when Miranda received command of her first ship, UNSC _In Amber Clad_, she had invited Halsey to attend the ceremony but Halsey refused, stating, "I didn't go. Because her father would be there? Because I am neck deep in the final stages of a half-dozen projects? I know why I didn't go. I don't want to say it." Another hint toward Miranda's parentage is that Halsey wrote in the journal that Miranda had her surname changed to "Keyes", which she believed was done to try and impress her father. It is also mentioned by Halsey that Cortana's appearance somewhat resembled Miranda. Since Cortana was derived from Dr. Halsey's own brain, this remark would not have much sense or relevance had Miranda not been biologically related to her.

The journal also provides an explanation of why Cortana was seen on Reach as well as mentioned in Halo: The Fall of Reach, assisting John-117 and his team of SPARTANs on their mission. It seems Halsey needed to analyze the Forerunner symbols and systems in Professor Sorvad's site. Halsey and Cortana both independently figured out the "Solomonic solution" which helped "divide" Cortana and allow "parts of her" to help Halsey while updating her "incarnate" self on the UNSC Pillar of Autumn until the last minute. The two parts were reunited sometime after Cortana's fragment was delivered by SPARTAN-B312 to Captain Keyes before the Pillar of Autumn left Reach.

It provides an explanation for the inconsistent numbers of Spartans, particularly involving those not present during the Operation: RED FLAG briefing. Halsey states, "That lie about all the Spartans gathered here, save for Gray - will that come back to haunt me?" Halsey notes that the bodies of the candidates who were killed during the augmentation procedures were placed in cryo-stasis, with the possibility that they may some day be resuscitated, though they appeared to be buried in space. She also notes that at least some of the candidates who were crippled could some day be rehabilitated and sent to active duty.

The journal also confirms that Dr. Halsey was aware of the existence of SPARTANs who were "not hers" well before the raid on the _Unyielding Hierophant_. She and Kalmiya had uncovered numerous ONI documents and encrypted files that suggested the existence of another SPARTAN program. All of which were filed and stored in blast proof hard cases within the Albatross.

After the UNSC _Hopeful_ was deployed outside the Epsilon Eridani system for a week, carrying various "carcinogenic", "mutanogenic", and "experimental" drugs. Upon his return, Admiral Ysionris Jeromi informed her that he knew little of what was going on, and could tell her nothing. Finally, Halsey reveals that her suspicions of other SPARTANS were confirmed when she met Noble Team at Sword Base. Later, at CASTLE Base, she discovered that they, with the exception of Jorge-052, had been SPARTAN-IIIs.

Umbra had to stop reading. Any more, and he would use it a kindling or toilet paper.

He heard a noise coming from the tunnels. Probably the ONI expatiation team who just finished their clean-up mission. He tore out two pages that might be useful, as if he did not download every page into his memory by now, and hid it the shadows, leaving the journal where he found it.

The expedition team was not what he had expected, in fact they were not human. Five bird like creatures walked out, their armor peppered with red blood. They were not regular Kig-Yars, because they did not have the mohawk quills on top of their head. Instead they were sporting manes of feathers rather than the quills. Their voice was more raspy and guttural then their sniper counterparts.

Skrimishers. Faster, stronger and more agile than ordinary Kig-yar. They served the Covenant as shock troops and Rangers. Guess this team was sent to investigate the Forerunner's remains or, since the Covenant dissolved, they were just simple pirates.

Umbta eased his hand over his revolver and slowly moved towards the cockpit, taking Halsey's journal with him. The Skrimishers growled and chirped without noticing Umbra's actions or existance. He sat himself in the cockpit, flipping on the switches to take off. Fortunately, the strong winds from the propelers knocked the bird creatures back - some of them even fell off the platform. The Albatross then got a message from an oncoming Pelican.

"_Pilot, what's your status over?_" A woman's voice came over the Albatross's COMs.

Umbra changed his voice to sound like a genaric marine. Deep voice and slowly panicing because of the events. "We were attacked by the Covenant, ma'am. The team is dead."

"_Calm down, pilot."_ She said._ "Did they recover anything?_"

"Negative. Team was walking into a meat locker." Umbra through the journal out of the window.

"_Copy that. Report to the extraction point for debriefing._"

"Yes, ma'am." By that time, Umbra was already in the air, cloaking device on and heading in the exact opposite direction. He was heading back to the once Spartan training grounds to pick up his stuff.

The Pelican landed. Captain Serin Osman and her team secured their location, and kicked the dead Skrimishers off the platform. Captain Osman then found the journal hanging on the edge of the pad. She picked it up and turned on her earpiece. "Spartan-019, reporting in. Adimiral, we found it."

"_Perfect._"

* * *

><p>The Highland Mountains are the largest groups of mountain ranges on the northern continents of Reach. The Highland mountains are home to many facilities used by HIGHCOM, including Camp Hathcock, Camp Independence, and ONI's fortress CASTLE Base under Menachite Mountain. After the Fall of Reach, these mountains were the only area not glassed by the Covenant. Umbra felt contempt that there was one section of the planet that was spared by the Covenant's scorched-earth tactics. Also, since the UNSC had plenty of bases hidden within the mountains, he plenty of choises for relastate to hide until the heat blew over.<p>

Camp Hathcock or Independence? No, he has been to UNSC's encampments and they were nothing to write home about. Plus, hiding a stolen Albatross, filled with even more stolen ONI property, could be a major challenge.

CASTLE Base then. It has the room and defenses to hide something as big as a stolen transport in, and since it is under the Menachite Mountain it had a natural barrier to hide the ships signal. But, after his experience at CASTLE Base he might run into more unwelcomed hosts waiting for him; human or Covenant.

He flew around for half an hour, and then he noticed a framiliar stretch of land. The Military Wilderness Training Preserve. Since the whole region was spared from the glassing, the region was still large, and still heavily wooded. Up here, Umbra knew the perfect place to spend the night.

Eagle's Nest was a former HIGHCOM station that was bought out for the Spartan program. The Spartans were brought out there to preform tactical exercises and preform normal kiddy games that were insanely twisted into war simulators. Like tag with trip mines on the grounds or hidden snipers with stun rounds, or playing a game of capture the flag using paintball guns to fight over land.

Umbra, back when he was someone else, got more sleep here then anywhere else on the Spartan base. Even in the midst of the simulators, he could find the simple peace the mountains had to offer... He also got shot there, _a lot_.

He circled around the base and noticed that there was a crashed Pelican within the campus. This was just a sign that even though the Highlands were spared from the glassing, it was still an open front for the war.

Umbra circled one last time, and then slowly desended and landed next to the tallest communication tower. Fresh water churned, and tall grass blew and swayed in the harsh winds from the jets. Anything too close was burnt.

The back bay door opened, and Umbra casually walked out. He now had a chance to stretch out his bandage wrapped body, but even with the peaceful feel of the mountain terrain and the awe-inspiring sight of Turul and Csodaszarvas, he knew that he was not alone.

In the pre-evening light of the day, Umbra could hear fraint scratching sound of one pair of feet and another in the not so far off distance.

One was five hundred feet away from his position, moving quickly and getting ready to get into a sniper position. The other was using some more advanced form of active-camo, staying low in order to mimic an animal.

At the first assassin broke through the window, Umbra pressed the button on the thick bar of metal in his hand that had been casually on his hip. The energy sword flicked into being with a crack of ionized air from the handle as the twin half as twin half ovals of blue plasma appeared.

The first swipe of angry-sounding sword dug deep into the assassin's chest, bringing her out of active-camo, and sparing her from the tip of the concerntrated plasma, just pinning her to the ground. To her credit the assassin did not scream.

Umbra barely had time to duck, though, as the next assassin fired upon him. It's rifle cracked off a supressed shot that just barely missed Umbra's head. But it's missed shot doomed it. Even as its anti-material round passed him, Umbra had pulled out his new revolver from its holster and was coming back up to a full stand, pointing his antique gun directly at it.

The sniper backpedaled, looking for a new location to prepare itself, realizing that this was not a simple pirate anymore.

There was a lot of space on the grounds, a perfect sniping grounds. The second assassin stepped back over the the large stine slabs of the cliff's floor, its eyes darting from building to building, wondering whether it could make a run for it. Or at least, how it might use the space to its advantage.

Umbra remained in front of the bay of the Albatross, watching the assassin. To be honest he had expected more then this. ONI made the Spartan-IIIs in order to produce cheap and expendable super soldiers to fight for the survival of humanity and the UNSC's colonies. Simply said, they were made with the mind-set of making supersoldiers with new technology, make more of them, and make them cheaper. Expendible supersoldiers at the UNSC's finger tips.

With that said though, Umbra expected more. The title of Spartan was something that had to be earned, not given. Guess that lieutenant commander Ambrose did not have the Spartan mind.

Umbra pooped out the cylinder, saw all six bullets still in their chambers, popped it back in and shot the assassin in the legs. The assassin tumbled to the ground right in front of Umbra's feet.

Umbra had experienced Spartan-III's before in his travels and raising a revolutionary group. They used Semi-Powered Infiltration armor, or SPI armor, which was mixture between legionnaire mail, part tactical body armor, and part chameleon skin. They were easier to use and easier to wear. But these two assassins were wearing MJOLNIR Armor, so these were not common muraders or some sort of ONI tactical team. They would be contorted pieces of meat if they did.

The man was clad in dark-green armor and was using long weaved patches of the grass to act as camoflague; the woman in fragments of armor in dark blue and red colors. Umbra relieved them of their helmets. The woman wore her dirty, blond hair tight to her skull, her features wide and open, while the other, dark matted hair, grey-blue-eyed and wold-lean, had a face that was stern and patrician with a tatoo of a fist gripping three arrows on the side of his face.

Both warriors, for it was clear from the wounds and weapons they bore that these were Spartans to whom the horrors of combat was no strange and unknown place, and both of them heaving great draughts of cold air into their lungs.

Umbra then studied the condition that his assassin's armor was in. Worn, torn, and they used straps of leather to keep it together. It was no longer the god-like armor Halsey made it to be, instead it was only good for offering the smallest fraction of what it could have done in perfect condition. Their gear and weapons had to be as poor of condition of their armor. Held together by straps of leather and military strength duck-tape, and it was wore and dirty. Sam would of had a field day on it.

He grabbed their dog-tags, still leaving them around their necks. Jun-A266 and Veronica-B312, both members of the legendery Noble Team. He should have known.

He took the time to pull the two Spartans inside of the Albatross and give them medical attention. Luckily there was nothing serious. He pulled the enegy sword from Veronica's chest piece. With another squeeze, the collection of ionized air dispearced and faded away.

"Sorry about that."Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Veronica reach for her M6 sidearm. Umbra pulled the hammer of his revolver back. "Are you sure that is a good idea? I'll beat you to the draw."

Veronica moved her hand away. She then asked, very blattently, "Are you going to destroy us now?"

Umbra hesitated, slightly shocked that these Spartan were willing to through their lives away so easily. Jun then said, "Come on and get on with it. There is nothing left for the defeated but death."

"Is that what you were taught?" Umbra asked.

"Yes." They both said.

"Tempting offer, if I was your enemy; but I'm not. So spare me the role of a murderer, cause I'm not murdering anyone."

"You're too generous with your words," Veronica said. "Calling us anyone instead of anything, as if we can be called human in this new era. I did not say murder us, I said destroy us!"

Umbra noticed that both his fists were tightly clenched. He took some relaxing breaths and said, "The only way I could do that, is if I agreed with your logic. And if I did that, if I agreed that you were not human... Then I couldn't see the other Spartans, Projects, or myself as human either."

They looked at him, confused by what he ment by 'myself'. Umbra took his hat off and opened up his bandaged head. What they saw inside was nothing, just a void of blackness. "What you see is me. The real me. I don't have a body anymore, but I'm human. That means, you guys are too. I'm not going to kill you."

What happened then was something that Jun never thought he could do. In fact he even scared Veronica with it. He started to laugh. Not like the snarky-cynical laugh that he did whenever he killed something, but an actually full-hearted laugh.

"Is something wrong, Jun?" she asked, concerned for his mental state.

"No, no, it's just funny is all." He said inbetween chuckles. "From the time we could remember, we were never treated like this. We stole, destroyed and killed. We were called animals and so behaved as such. But now we are being treated like humans, when we're just lowly prisoners. The irony is _too_ much!"

Jun settled down, took a deep breath to collect himself and said, "You are the revolutionaire leader, Umbra, correct? Would you mind if we join you?"

"Jun, have you officially gone crazy?" Veronica snapped. "If we do that, then we be killed or resocialized!"

"We'll be resocialized anyways," Jun said. "And we already died once. I think it is a little to late to be affraid now."

"I'll let you two join," Umbra cut in. "Just so you know, there will be a deal of hardship ahead and you may have to make your own decissions that'll blur the lines between right and wrong. It'll be up to you to know the the difference. So what do you say. We have a deal?"

"Deal." Jun shook his hand.

"I know I'm signing my death weaver, but, deal. What do I have to loose?"

* * *

><p>Back on Hyperion, Sam apporched Umbra who was sitting at his regular spot on the Forerunner artifact.<p>

"Boss, you go to Reach for answers, and you come back with a whole shipful of answers." Sam said as he looked down the sights of the Covenant Carbine Umbra brought back. "I already got the armory team wokin on upgrades and other little perks. But I have to ask, what the_ hell_ did you bring back?"

Umbra put down the two journal pages he tore out and turned to his second-in-command. "It's called a jukebox."

"I am no more enlightened than I was before, boss," Sam growled, "and time is wasting."

"A jukebox is an old method of playing music," Umbra explained. "Music used to be pressed into vinyl disks called records. There might be up to a thousand songs in there - songs that no one's heard in maybe a couple hundred years."

"You and your old-fashion crap. First the Colt, and now that." Sam said. "But that was not what I was talking about. I ment the Spartans."

"Jun and Veronica? They're fine, you can trust them."

"I can trust them?... ARE OUT OF YOUR BANDAGE WRAPPED MIND? They're Spartans! They'll slit our throats when we're asleep."

"No they won't." Umbra said. "They actually gave me a new idea for the revolution. We are going to start recruiting the missing Spartans. Tell them about what ONI did to them, give the closure, and a chance for them to make their own way in this universe."

"But they don't think the same way you do. They're military to the core. No one like that can change."

"You did." Umbra said. "By the way, I'm placing them under your command."

"You did what?"

"Also, they mentioned something about resocializing. Dig through those files and see if you can find anything on it."

"You want me to _what_?"

* * *

><p><strong>Hey guys, I'm back. Nothing really to say about this chapter except for it being so long.<strong>

**The next two will be centered around Sam and Elizia, and then I'll do a little more of a linear path. Possibly.**


	3. Devil

_Life is simple._

_There is the void._

_There is darkness._

_There is light._

After the destruction of Imperial Down, most of the Projects went home. To their families. To a state of normalcy. They wanted to start a new in some sort of peace. Guess some faction just don't believe in peace.

The Yahama Islands were once a group of small islands covered in lush jungles. The UNSC thought since the local colonists there went savage, taking up a more primative way of life, then it would be a perfect hive for Insurrectionist. So, in a half-thought-out attempt to contain the possible Insurrection, they sent in the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers, or ODSTs, to contain them under Marshal Law. This decision decisively, and horrifically stared a series of covert terrorist attacks and bombings on the UNSC occupiers. Though the UNSC and Local Militia had the Yahamans outnumbered by far, the people of the Yahama Islands were able to keep the conflict going due to a steady supply of munitions from the United Rebel Front, which pretended to sympathize with them as an excuse to weaken Amestris' southern border for their own gains.

In the blink of an eye, that bastard Colonel Robert Watts became a god sent to the Yahamans. Though this did not settle well with the innie-hating ODST, who just continued their torch-and-burn way of winning.

_Much I learned was on the hunt._

Sector twenty-seven, only two months into the the campaign. A fire team contribed of members from the 105th Shock Troops Divison were sent deep behind enemy lines in order destroy Yahaman weapon caches that they hid in their villages. The members of the 105th possessed 'exceptional' Esprit de Corps and immense pride and distinction in their work, reflected by the customary comet-and-skull tattoo each received after surving ten sucessful drops.

The 105th was infamous for its brutality, even toward fellow human troops and civilians.

_How to mask one's sent and heat._

"Keep pace, guys!" The ODST sergeant ordered. "That village is still a mile away - - You know the orders."

_How to blend in with one's surroundings._

Something came from the brush and pulled a private who was bringing up the rear in. It muffled his screams as it slit his throat with a knife made of volcanic obsidian.

_How to move silently._

The creature moved from the brush and attack the new marine who was bringing up the rear.

_How to move quickly._

That Trooper suffered the same fate. A knife to the throat as a wolf-hybrid creature stood his chest. Eyes glowing red and muscles bulging under it's thick fur.

_How to kill efficiantly._

The remaining two Shock Troopers noticed the creature.

_How to adapt._

The lycanthrope tore M7S Submachine Gun from it's dead owner, and killed the troopers. Bullets tore straight through their VISRs, leaking grey, red and pink matter from the holes.

_And most of all..._

The wolf-creature morphed back into a tall, lean musculed young man. He was covered with various tribal tattoos across his left shoulder and the left side of his face. He had very long dark brown hair, that was arranged in a mohawk that followed into an unkempt mane that slightly went past his waist, resembling those worn by Native Americans. He wore a tanned-leather skirt, with a rope as a belt decorated with three small ornaments that look like fangs and claws around his waist.

He took all of the guns and ammo from the Troopers and displayed their bodies to warn others off. With next caw of a native bird, he was gone.

_How to survive._

The man lept and bounded over tree branches and down enbankments. The guns, ammo, and whatever armor he could pull off did not limit his motion in the slightest. He would stop at villages along the way to trade some of the stuff that his village did not need. He would trade for food, water or midnight company with the village's most beautiful virgin. After eating and drinking his fill, and bedding more then his share of maidens, he headed out for his own home again.

This time though, it was different.

He did not stop in any village to trade away his spoils. He just kept running for his home. He saw black storm clouds building, and he knew that visibility will be very low. But great or poor wheather, he would not miss his village's festival of harvest. All of the meaning for that festival was lost with time, but everyone enjoyed it.

He let out a long full wolf howl followed by a louder belch as he wiped the extra mead from his face. He looked meaningfully at his village and then glanced over at the table where the unwed girls were sat. He smiled and nodded, no longer nervous after bedding a good share. Soon it would be time to dance.

One unwedded maiden caught his eyes more then the others. Her name was Anne, and she was stunning.

Anne is a young woman with short, unruly crimson hair with several braids in it, long slender legs, and a slim, curvaceous figure.

She was dressed in a revealing bikini top and miniskirt made out of animal skins that greatly show off her ample bust and long legs, and a navy blue cape that seems to resemble a Marine officer jacket. She also wore a pair of VZG7 armored boots that she looted off the same officer. Anne had always been able to get the guys attention growing up. At first, it was because of her great hunting skills. Then, as she grew into a woman, her body changed in all of the right places in order to gain the desire of the opposite sex.

And as of tonight, she belonged only to him.

He whooped and reached out to hook his arm into Anne's. He was drunk and he was happy. The dancers formed up into long lines and weaved in intricate patterns to the music of the pounding drums.

Anne smiled at him, face flushed, as they whirled around in a circle before returning to their respective lines one place down. In this way all of the youngsters got to dance with each other. It was a general reel.

From the distance he could hear the sound of the sining and drinking as the elders continued their feast near the larger fire. One by one, the married couples were coming out to join in the dancing. They barked. They honked. They bleated. The festivies stirred them up and brought out a inner animal.

Suddenly the music stopped, as the drummers broke off to quench their thrist and give their hands a break. Acting mainly on impulse, he moved towards Anne. They exchanged glances. Without speaking glances. Without speaking they moved off, arm in arm, into the darkness away from the hall. He could see that the girl's face was flushed. Her hair was in disarray. Her eyes seemed huge in the in the gloom and the firelight. He reached out and put his arm around her waist, she did the same to him. They looked at each other and she giggled like a conspirators as they moved into the shadows of the huts.

Standing in the shadows, listening to the sounds of mirth from the village, he was aware that something of major importance was happening here. He felt drawn by the woman by the same attraction that he had to hunt. And tonight, she was his pray. He told her this, expecting her to laugh. She looked at him and smiled, lips parting slightly. He was immediately aware of her beauty and the soft warmth of her body against his. Without thought, he reached out and pulled her to him. Their lips met. Her armscame behind his head to clutch his face from both sides and to guide him.

After a long moment, they broke apart and smiled conspirator's smile, then they returned to kissing.

"What are you thinking about?" Anne said, reranging her coat. He stopped her and just looked at her. Overhead he saw the lights in the sky. At first he thought as the woman had that it was a falling star but then he noticed the comet trail of fire that followed it. It reminded him of something he hunted before. At the moment, befuddled by mead and his recent endeavours, he was blanking.

In the distance dogs barked as if in response to the sight of the meteor fall.

He rolled over, grabbed the girl, and pulled her down to kiss him. He loved the sight of seeing her body glow in the moonlight, the shadows covering up the parts he loved the most. She resisted playfully for the moment, knowing that the beast soul inside enjoyed it, before joining him on the ground. He did not think he had ever be so happy as he was at that moment, but the thought those flames falling downwards niggled at the back of his mind.

He hazily remembered where he had seen something like that. The enemies in black called them Pelicans, and they acted like the great birds as they ate and threw-up several creatures big and small. Unlike the birds, they were made of green metal and blew hot air and set the forrest on fire.

What could be their significance, he asked himself lazily, before he stopped thinking altogether in the passion of his lover. He barely noticed when the scream and gunshots began.

"What was that?" Anne asked, a look of fear appearing on her face. She tried to hide it to the best of her abilities. He disentagled himself from her and looked up.

"I don't know," he said, and then suddenly realized that he was wrong. He had heard a thunderous sound like this before, when he stole the enemies in black weapons.

He pulled himself to his feet. Anne got up beside him. Holding her hand he made his way between the huts back towards the sound of the commotion. What he saw was worse than anything he had ever expected.

_The enenies in black have a saying._

Enemies in black were among the revellers. Huge burly men with dark hair. Their features were craggy and their jaws were massive. Thet were almost trollish, and he recognised them instantly from the songs of his people. They were creatures called Brutes.

For a moment superstitious fear froze him. The beast-men used weapons that he had never seen before. On the other side, the enemies in black were fighting them off with weapons that spat bright blue fire. And in the middle was his own people, fighting off both enemies.

_War is Hell._

"Get back!" he shouted, grabbing Anne and jumping back into the forrest. Bright blue fumes of electric heat splashed near them, some droplets hit his back as they hit the ground. He grunted in pain, but making sure Anne was okay was his main concern.

He knew that hiding in the jungles would provide little protection for them, that soon the beast-men or enemies in black might torch the jungle as well. Still, he wanted time to think, and he knew that without a shadow of doubt there would be weapons stashed around. Better then the dagger at his side.

Not quite understanding what was going on, Anne resisted, but he was stronger and he wrestled her back. He put his hand over her mouth.

"Be quiet if you want to live!" he told her and saw terrified knowledge appear in her eyes, swiftly followed by firm resolution. She was a true duaghter of her tribe, he could see.

Screams and war cries filled the night, only slightly dulled by the underground of the thick trees. Inside a weapons cache was gloomy. He fumbled frantically among the possessions until he found a thirty-caliber light machine gun with boxes and vines of ammo. Swiftly he drapped the sharp bullets around his neck, and hefted the heavy gun. He felt a little better but he was going in without a plan. The things he had seen had already burned their way into his brain.

Yet some small rational part of his mind told him, this _was _war. There was already the dead tangled into jungles of this vast planet. He had inflicted death before and recieved terrible wounds. He knew that sides were rarely fair. And such things ended in terrible death of someone. The question was: would Anne see this side of him?

Anne already knew that he was a hunter, that he had this beast locked away in him, in fact he used to hunt her down when they were kids, but he never wanted to come off as a monster. What was he going to do?

Was he going to loft with her and leave his people for death, or was he going to step outside and reviel himself to his enemies?

He knew there was little choice. He was going to kill either way and best to meet his enemies head on and save as many as he could.

And yet something stopped him from doing what he knew he must do. His eyes were drawn back to the huntress, standing dry eyed and paled face near the entrance. She had already wiped away her tears and tried to smile at him. It was a terrible grimace and he felt his heart would break.

How the way he saw life changed in the matter of hours. Less than an hour ago he had been completely at peace. He and Anne had been together. Things seemed settled between them in the manner of the village. They would have been wed, had children, lived their lives together. Now that future was fleeting, as if his enemies stole it. There was nothing left save blood, ashes, and prehaps the empty life with guilt, He knew he could not face it.

He knew one thing, he could not stay. If he did, he would only be putting her life at risk. A firefight will break out, and angry men had been known to strike down innocent bystanders. Most likelyshe would be spared to become the enemies in black or Brute's mistress or thrall. Such was the way of the world. The thought pained him more then any amounts of bullets.

And he still could not go. The same manetism that had drawn him to the woman earlier prevented himfrom leaving now. Instead he stepped towards her, put the machine gun down and reached out and touched her face, tracing the lines with his fingers, trying to memorise them so that he could carry them down into hell with if need be. Of all that had happened in his life, she was the greatest. It tore away at his heart now to know that there would be no more, that their lives might be over before it barely began.

He reached down and pulled her to him for one last kiss. They parted for a moment.

"Anne," he said, putting a fully loaded designated marksman rifle into her hands. "Take this. Get the remaining people out of here."

"I will." She said, keeping back her grief.

Their lips met for a long moment and then he pushed her away.

"Farewell," he said softly. "It would have been sweet."

"Farewell," she said, enough of a child of her people not to try to stop him when they parted way.

_War is not Hell,_

They ran out into the burning night, into the howling chaos and madness. He started to run at faster then human speeds. He then slung the machine gun over his back and changed, running on his hands and feet. They two changed into their wolf-like shape, until all of him was a full wolf.

The first thing he killed was a Brute. He jumped up and chomped on the thick-skinned beast, crushing its wind pipe and killing it instantly. He slung around his machine gun and unloaded twenty rounds into the backs of the Brutes. They groaned loudly and collapsed to the ground. A Brute tried to crush him with a hammer that changed gravities weight, but he grabbed the staff, threw the Brute around and knocked the Brute with its own weapon. As the alien beast reeled back off-balance he split the alien's skull with the hammer.

He looked around. His home was on fire. The once great structures and meeting places were burning. All was madness. Shadowy figures shot and killed in the gloom. It was like the stories the adults told about hell. Women raced through the night, carrying children. Dogs barkedand bit the legs of their invaders. Birds flapped squawking into the night canopy, their wings a blaze.

_Because in Hell,_

Several shots tore through the fires. Some regular bullets, others were those blue wads of burn spit that caused him more pain then the bullets. He blindly shot into the madness, killing all that he saw. A sense of victory rushed through him. As if he knew that he was single handily winning this fight. One by one, black figures, which he translated as enemies in black, died by hisactions. And he loved every second of it.

Over the clanging-cracking songs of his guns, he was laughing. He was in heaven. But then the rain started to pour in heavy quantities. It was if the gods were now showing him his sins, and the price he had to pay for his actions.

_Innocence is spared._

Men, women and even all the ages of children laid dead at his feet. The number of his own people's dead greatly out numbered the Brutes or the enemies in black. He saw the bodies of the family who took care of him, burned alive in their hut. Anne's brother, shot up to the point of being unrecognizable and had enough led in him to triple his weight, laid next to his dead wife and new born. Both victims of horrible burns and his rage.

He let out a long, grusome howl that over powered the storm's greatest thunder clap.

_When a man has nothing left,_

Months went by. Now all he cared about was finding Anne, and hoping that some of his people made it out alive. They would rebuild and survive once again. She was not amoung the dead, that at least gave him some hope.

_When everything has been taken away from him,_

From time to time he would find her sent, but then found out it was justing leading him into a dead end. That did not stop him, and for the next three months, all he did was search.

_He becomes his own worse nightmare._

One day, during the great monsoon season, he picked up on a different scent.

It was off worldly, no mistake of that, but it did not smell like the Brutes or enemies in black. He hid in the brush, as if he was on the hunt, and pulled the string back on his bow. The tip was laced with a special poison that would stop it's heart in seconds.

A full grown man, dressed only in medical gauzes, soaked pair of buckskin leather, and a even wetter poncho, walked through the runny mud. He wore the same kind of armored boots as the enemies in black did, but he could have also gotten them off a dead one.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." He said looking dirrectly at him. The gauze man's voice was harsh and raspy, but he held himself with the power of the gods.

He jumped out from his hiding spot, bow still at the ready, to face the gauze man. The gauze man did not flinch, but rather welcomed him.

"Look, I'm not going to give you a bunch of bullshit." he said. "Your people death was not your enemies fault. It was yours."

He shot the arrow at the man, the gauze man dodged it with little effort. He shot his entire quiver of arrows, but not one hit him. The gauze man then said, "Anger does not change the fact that you failed."

He charged at the gauze man with his dagger. The gauze man hit one location on his arm. He flipped completely around and landed on his back in the cold mud.

"You weren't close to beating me. You have sacrificed sure footing for a killing stroke." the gauze man said. "I know the rage that drives you. That impossible anger strangling the grief, until the memory of your loved one is just poison in your veins. And one day, you catch yourself wishing the person you loved had never existed, so you'd be spared your pain. Your anger gives you great power. But if you let it, it will destroy you … as it almost did me."

_When a man has nothing left,_

He pulled him up out of the mud. "My... tribe could use your help, you are just like me, someone who lives outside the bounds of time and reality. But again, I'm not going to bullshit you. I'm not a saint. But I _am _going to change this galaxy for the better, and I'd rather have you on the winning side."

_He is ready for change._

"My name is Umbra. We met before, but you were too young to remember." Umbra said. "Do you have a name?" He never though of his name before. His people usually called him 'mutt,' but never a real name. "How does Sam sound? You're big and stong like a Sam I used to know. I think you'll do the name justice."

* * *

><p>He had learned so much in only much in only a few days. It was an enlightening experience in its own way. The more he learned, the more he understood Umbra's motavation, and the more he understood the need for change the more he longed to join and to be a part of it.<p>

He knew now that the world was far greater and more complex place than ever he had believed. There were not just one world but many. His planet was an orb that circled around the eye of their god. Umbra then clarrified this that Sam's orb was a planet, and that his god, or what he thought was a mass of a burning gas called hydrogen. And in turn his sun was just one of millions of suns that made up the galaxy and around many of which orbited other inhabited worlds. Strangest of all, not all of these worlds were inhabited by humans.

Some were ruled by the large, lumbering monsters called Jiralhanae. The Brutes. The ones who destroyed his chances at having a normal life. Some were home to the clover-mouthed, crane-necked species called Sangheili. They were also called Elites. Probably because they were fierce, proud, strong, agile and intelligent warriors and skilled combat tacticians. Sam liked that.

Sam learned their tactics, their ways of life, and how they were flawed and could be improved. He was trained in different forms of fighting, could perfect any weapon he was given, studied every star chart in the galaxy, learned every tongue and could read every language. Umbra taught him all of this through a process he called 'implanting.' The process included Umbra placing his left hand on Sam, or any one else in his gang, and he literally implanted the knowledge into their heads. They learned it at exceptionally fast rates. As if they knew it all along.

Some went crazy though. They learned too much too fast, and their brains could not adapt. So Umbra had to do the opposite called 'devouring.' Instead of implanting the knowledge, he took some of it away. Enough so they were at least clinically sane.

At first, knowledge was just words to Sam. Put it in front of something, and tell him to kill it; that was his only purpose. After a while, those words, his knowledge, it became like a drug. He could not get enough of it. He tried to keep it a secret, but after a while Umbra had to devoure the information.

Now Sam had tactical ingenuity of a five star general but the mental instability of a psychotic, murderous hitman.

* * *

><p><strong>0940 Hours, November 7, 2554 [Military Calendar]  Alpha Eridanus system, Aboard Umbra's Raiders _Centurian_-class battlecruiser _Warsaw_ enroute to Greywood Station, Planet New Europa.**

Jun ran both hands through his thick black hair, and took another swish of water from his canteen. His hands shook. Ironic that his career in the military had come to this: going from defenders of the UNSC and ONI, to a rebel faction. A very sucessful and well armed rebel faction at that. He took a another swig and tried to control his nerves. Another turn of irony is that his condition would start to act up right before a mission, which included attacking a ONI headquarters.

Jun hated to admit it, but everything in his file was true. Too true in his opinion. He was always regarded as being solid as a rock under pressure, but he was suffering from form of post-tramdic stress disorder. Brought on by a mission he did way back in his early days and is now covered with black-ink and a red classified stamp. Sure he hid the symptoms, when he could, and denied any alligation made to them, but no amount of denial could save him from the sleepness nights and cold sweats.

Six knudged him a bit and mumbled, "You're acting up again. Relax. This was your idea anyways."

Jun popped a small sedative pill into his mouth before three other Raiders in their combat hard-skins walked into the Pelican's troop bay. Their hard-skin armor consists of large rigid plates of titanium alloy with green and grey body suit made out of an alloy they nicked named adamantium. If it truly lived up to it's name, then these Raiders might be impervious to direct gunfire. Each one carried a URM-45 _Impaler _assault rifle.

The _Impaler_s rifle that runs on gauss technology. Bulky, but it featured far more streamlined design than anything that the UNSC had in it's arsenal. They are fully automatic with a fire rate of thirty rounds per second, although fully automatic fire is discouraged under most circumstances. A capacitor system is used to fire the weapon in short bursts, conserving ammunition and minimizing power requirements. Due to this, the URM-45 has a high recoil; hard-suits are designed to suppress that.

Fortunately for Jun and Six, their MJOLNIR armor and gear was repaired with some much needed improvements. Their all of mods were now built in and required little training to operate. Armor-lock, jetpacks, active camouflage, dropsshields, and even the hologram technology was built in. Sprinting and evading became easier, almost effortless.

Sam casually strode onto the Pelican before it took off. Petty Officer Erica was at the helm, drumming her fingers across the contols as her green, battle-scarred Pelican lifted off the ground. Sam walked past the Raiders, Jun and Six, webbing, storage bins, and the empty seats lining the walls to climb up into the cockpit. She had her helmet resting next to her, and had them replaced with head-phones. Her bleached copper hair was tried into a slopy bun, and she left her outfit only slightly unbuttoned.

"You better strap in behind me, Commander." Erica said, talking over the music that only she could hear. "Might get a little bumpy."

"That's what I'm hoping for."

The ramp groaned as it slowly closed, the hold of the dropship darkened. Erica ran the systems check with a bewildering rapidity that could only come with practice and familiarity. There was a photo of a brunette with two boys taped to the side of the cockpit window. Sam pointed at it. "Your partner?"

"Yes sir." she said in her spanish acsent.

"When did you get married?"

"Three years ago, our forth anniversary is comin' up next week."

"Congrats, I'll send you flowers."

"Lisa likes roses, but I would like some off time for that."

"I'll give you the week off if you suceed at this mission."

"Make it payed, and I'll fly you straight into the heart without a scratch."

"Just don't get carried away."

The was not a lot of room for a Pelican to move in the _Warsaw_'s bay, but Erica gunned the four thrusters and the Pelican hopped up forward, and as abruptly, spun and drove through the bay doors. Through the whole conversation Erica was showing off that she could get out of a ship's docking bay without paying attention. Sam did not give the pilot the satifaction of a flinch or misbalance. But he was impressed. The dangerous stunt showed that Erica could fly blind. And damn well, too.

"You got your orders. I gotta give the troops mine." Sam gave her a pat on the shoulder and then moved to the back.

Six had to fight the urge to stand up and salute her superior officers. The Raiders saluted when needed, but most of the time it was a relaxed two finger salute or a subtle knod of the head. Not as many formalities, but the chain was still there.

"All right Raiders, listen up." Sam said with a type of roar that only Carter possessed. "ONI forces have set up a logistics headquarters in the town of Greywood Station. This has become the hub for all operations on New Europa and the entire Alpha Eridanus system. ONI recently pulled troops out of the city, and they are now understrength."

A man buy the name of Tigers raised his hand. "How are the locals cooperating?"

Tiger had croppeed brown hair, hazel eyes, and a light coating of dirt on his face. It was shocking, to the Spartan-III's at least, how much he looked and sounded like Lt. Commander Ambrose.

"The people of New Europa are known to be anti-ONI. But they lack weapons and organization." Sam said. "The mission is simple. Take the headquarters away from ONI, it'll cripple their stranglehold on the system."

"Any word on the boss?" Another Raider, a woman this time, spoke up. She, like Erica, had spanish features, but spoke clear english. Her name was Racheal, but she went buy the nicknames of Woods.

"Umbra is taking down their defenses as we speak." Sam said. "Our job is to provide support when shit hits the fan. We are going in hard and fast, as usual. Take out the ONI soldiers, take the ones who surrender and turn, and there will be no exceptions for civilian casualties. We came here as liberators, _not_ conquerors."

Usually when some one says that, you are supposed to run. The same goes for 'home before christmas,' 'kill'em all and let God sort them out,' or 'moral is at an all time low.' We call it, Catch-22 effect.

* * *

><p>Erica dropped them off in the main park of the town of Watson's Crossing. Watson's Crossing was five miles short of the ONI longistic headquaters. Rather than roll into the center of the city where stolen UNSC would be destroyed on sight, Erica decided to land in the softest place on a town that was outside the city. Erica dropped out her flight plan pattern and came in low over a large park, the tops of trees whipped about in the fury of engine backwash. Birds scattered in their wake, rising to the sky in flocks of green and blue.<p>

She angled the Pelican back, flaring the craft out for a spectacular, bone-jarring landing that had Sam grabbing the arms of his chair. Again, Erica was showing off. The engines whined down as she cut them, and dust slowly settled back to the ground - a few yards away. Sam considered giving Erica hard time for the unusual approach, then decided that complaining was a waste of energy.

Besides, it was kind of fun. _"Just shrug it off," _he told himself.

"I'll be back for the pick-up, Commander" Erica said. She flipped the switch to lower the back ramp. "Watch your step on the way out."

Sam, Jun, Six and the three Raiders hopped off the Pelican. It was a simple three foot drop, and the Pelican blew and flew back to the _Warsaw. _

"Alright boys, let's show the locals they don't need to fear the fascists." Corporal Gunns said in his natural scottish.

They moved out from the park and onto the long stretch of road. To the east was a destroyed overpass. From the debree field, scorch marks, and the fact there was a crashed Phantom not too far away. It seemed like the Covenant tried to attack and were either under-manned or under-armed.

"Keep your intervals wide, your eyes open and your asses covered. Let's move!" Sam ordered.

Sam took point, Woods and Tiger followed closely behind, Gunns followed behind them, and Jun and Six brought up the rear. Gunn, who was muching on half of a dinner roll at the time, looked back and saw the Spartans trailing.

"You two an item?" he asked, mouth half full.

"What?" Six asked, bit harsh and embarressed.

"Take it easy, I just wanted to know if you two were dating... Spartans can have realationships, right?"

Six and Jun never really thought about it. That was caused by Directive FZ556: That if any Spartan were to develope emotions towards a fellow Spartan, certain measures would be taken to ensure that neither Spartan would face an emotional break down if the other died. First step was to implant platinum pellet into the Spartan's thyroids that contains a certain human growth hormone catalyst. A simple modification will release the drug to suppress certain hormones preventing their sex drive from functioning. Although these tests have been proven fatal in 'volunteers,' so other measures have been taken.

The second, more human measure is immediate seperation. No interaction is to be allowed, correspondence included. A prolonged period of separation and manditory therapy measurements would be taken until both Spartans have been absolved of these feelings.

A third measure is resocialization.

"We've served together for a long time." Jun said.

"Where'd yah serve?"

"Reach." Six said.

"So that means you guys were part of Noble Team." Gunn said. "Any more, and we would have shot you on sight. But you saved a lot of people those days. So I can't hold it against you."

TheSpartans had noticed the cold welcome, but they had already been used to the distance even among their former service men. The revialry between them and the ODSTs was legendery. But these Raiders were not their former service men, their hazing was colder.

"Don't mind the hazing," Gunn said, "We always do that to the new guys, but you two take it to a new level."

"Is it because we're Spartans?"

"Mostly. A lot of the Raiders were part of small time Insurrectionist groups. Rioters. POWs that ONI wanted swept under the rug. Me. Just some guy stuck in rut and going nowhere. Wanted change, but to chicken-shit to join the army. Figured the Raiders was a good way to get rich and change for the better. Tigers the main Spartan hater. His twin brother was kidnapped and replaced with a meat clone -"

Sam called Gunn up to the front, and he followed without a second look. His equipment gave a little clack sound as he ran, and his run looked creaky and very unstable. Vrolik syndrome, perhaps?

The main road led the team past simple, wood framed houses that were equipped with solar-collecting roof dishes and satelite dishes. The dishes were not operational, of course, not since the battles in space had begun, but might become functional now since the war was over.

"Here's what we're fighting for," Tiger observed. "Neighborhoods like this one."

"And apparently the beach side water front." Woods said, pointing the very beautiful obvious.

Since it's founding, New Europa has been entirely dependent upon its reputation as a 'luxuary resort' planet. Consisting largely of a vast archipelago of minor contenants and thousands of golden islands scattered across a shallow warm turquoise sea, its climate and environment are said to be perfect for soothing and rejuvenating the tired and troubled mind. Since the people were neutral towards the war effort, ONI and UNSC officials thought best to be a preseant in the civilians lives. Said it was an out reach program. To better relations with the remaining Outer Colonies, or something like that.

Either way it started off calmly in the beging, as most do. It was the standard winning hearts and mind of the people campaign. But soon enough the populations of small towns started to disappear, and the soldiers immediately denied involvement. Which just told the Raiders that something was up.

They passed a few isolated stores and came across what was obviously the town's main street. It was a sad looking affair that consisted of one and two-story commercial buildings, many of which were in desperate need of new paint.

A woman, a native civilian, sat on the steps outside of her home. As the raiders past by, "Don't go up that road." Then she ran back inside and hard locked the door.

They went further up the road, walking up on a small squad of UNSC marines. "Raiders? Kill them!"

They were immediately killed by armor piecing and rounds that exploded on contact, all running on gauss power. The bodies were torn away and no longer recognizable. The raiders did not seem to flinch at all. They moved up the road, passing more empty housing and AI controlled machines who were not told that they could quit.

Erica popped in on their COMs. "Commander, word from Umbra. Destroying the UNSC Holoboards will help incite rebellion against the UNSC, but it'll look bad on us because we'll look like we're against the UEG."

"So what? Destroy? Don't destroy? What?"

The city of Greywood Station was just that; a station. The settlement's tallest building was only seven storries tall and it was some local insurrence company. The others went from apartment complexs, local businessses, some clinics, the capital buildings and family houses.

The wierd thing is that since New Europa was not UNSC friendly, the people who lived in the capital would welcome the Raiders like heros. Instead, what they got was a very quiet and empty welcome. From the looks of things, it seemed like the people just got up, dropped what they were doing, and left; not even the signs of a struggle.

On her heads-up display, Six picked up a few life signs coming from the apartment complex a head. A older man, a native, came out with his hands out and open. He said, "Don't shoot we're unarmed."

"What happened here?" Jun asked.

"I don't know." The man said. Gunn looked past him and saw some other people hiding inside. "The marines started to round people up for some reason. If we asked, they said it was for the good of Earth. But that was over a month ago... My family... my friends... Oh God."

"I don't like this," Sam said under his breath. "Get back inside, we'll send a crew to get you. Let's move Raiders!"

They moved faster up the road. Jun and Six had to restrain themselves from running too far ahead. Sam ordered a complete halt and ordered them into an empty two-story home. Up a head, in the city square, was a larger encampment of ODSTs. Eachone armed with Spartan and Rocket Launchers, two were stationed at a heavy machine gun turrets and one was positioned at a rocket-hog.

Dead Space came onto their COMs. "_Commander, a large UNSC force is gathered in the center square_."

"Tell me something I don't know." Sam said as he pulled a pack of cigaretted from under his left pauldron. He popped one out and smoked it through its entirity before saying. "Dead Space. It's time to call in that 'special delivery' we've been talking about."

The roaring sound of YSS-1000 Saber-class starfighters flew over them and rained a barrage of torpedoes down on the helljumpers location. Four were killed by direct contact, one from the shock wave and one died because of impalement inside a car. The Sabers then did a hair pin turn and landed within the square, transforming into bipedal walkers. Their noses were turned down, their underbellies split into two large and heavy legs, their 'arms' consisted of two M1024 ASW/AC 30mm ALA Cannons and their bulky 'shoulders' held the Medusa missile pods.

Bulletes pounced and deflected off the walkers illuminating shields. Medusa missiles found their targets and caused the square to explode in brilliant plums of reds and oranges. The helljumper on the missle hog was able to widdle away one of the walker's shield with one salvo. Only four meters of titanium-A alloy protected the pilot from the next salvo, and that might not be enough.

Jun moved his finger over the trigger, took a deap breath, aimed down the scope and fired. The fourteen point five by one-hundred fourteen round made contact with elite marine's head, sending blood and grey-matter flying into the air. The body slumped over the turret, and then slowly slid off the warthog all together.

The square was now a morge, all the ONI ODSTs were dead. No casualties on the Raiders side.

They continued down the road, passing deserted hardware stores and autobody guarages. Finally they found the civilians. Men, women and children were all being lined up at gun point as they entered a Pelican. Two marines were standing at the back, while two others were on gatling-hogs. One, at the back, tried to run for it.

"We got ourself a runner!" A marine shouted as they started to fire upon the young man.

No warning shot in the air.

No intended missed shots.

Just a wall of bullets brought the young boy crashing to the ground. Dead in a poll of his own blood.

"They're shooting civilians, boss!" Sam said over COM. "If you wanna go through with your plan, I'd suggest you do it now!"

Suddenly, one of the warthogs sputtered to life and though it had no one driving, the jeep started to move on its own. The warthog made a series screeching turns as it drove head long into the other jeep. One of the marines jumped out, just to be killed by Raider sharpshooting, while the other was killed on impact.

The townfolk rushed out of the Pelican, cheering and congradulating the Raiders. The older ones decided to join them in their mission. Picking off ammo, weapons and body armor off the dead marines, while also using improvised weapons like firebottles or the turret off the warthog.

Many marines, from the 23rd Armor regiments who had thrown their lot in with ONI, guarded the headquater, knowing that soon the military parade will become a blood bath.

"I count twenty tanks, sir." said Six. "All of the Marines from 23rd armor, they have a good amount of training and experience - not to equal your's, of course, but dangerous if they fire on us with those guns."

She handed Sam her birnoculars. "See, they assembled defensive barriers, and they seem ready for any attack we through their way. They know the importance of the mission."

"Good," said Sam, "for a first glance, I thought this mission was going to be boring. If there is one thing I_ can't_ stand in life, is boredom."

"That one," said Woods, pointing at the tank in the back, "is the officer's tank. See the medals and badges of rank on his uniform? The skull surrounded by ten yellow stars on a white circle is granted by the fascist generals to officers who sho great ruthlessness in leading their troops. On his sleeve are marks of his rank. Looks like Lt. Colonel. In his hand seems to be a remote detenation charge, probably a fail safe in case we break through their frontlines. This guy has to die first, with their leader dead, the rest will more then likely fall into disarray."

Sam smiled at this, and showed his grand canine teeth that gave him the knickname as the wolf of the battlefield. "Rank is such a crime, it takes the limited amount of time that is given to man, and rather than spending it in indolence or drowning it in pleasure, it just sits there: sucking, eating it up. I can't put up with that, rank is a crime! Death to rank! Die!"

Before he could leap out of cover, Six and Jun grabbed both of his legs and pulled him back. "Look again. The man over there looks like the officer, and no doubt a ruthless one. It is the _Militant Manifesto, _a book written by Colonel Robert Watts himself, just a collection of his campaigns and rebel fronts. Only the most inexperienced at fighting Innies-"

Sam gave a threatening growl. "- would actually read it. That man may not be the main officer, but he leads them in reality. He is like their... 'spititual leader' for a lack of better words."

"Like a priest?"

"Not exactly," Six said. "think of him like the Covenant Arbiter, minus the fighting skills. They turn to him for turn leadership.

"So I'll kill him first," said Jun as he looked down his scope. "their moral will shatter, panic sets in, and it will turn into a turkey shoot."

"So that guy dies first, got it. Die boredom!"

Sam tried to lunge out a second time, but was pulled back the same way.

"Will you stop doing that?" Six hissed. "Jun has a perfect shot. He'll take him out."

"True. That's very, very, very, very true. But unless you want that building, or us, to be blown to kingdom come, I would highly suggest you allowing me to go through with my plan."

"And that would be?" Jun asked.

"Show _that_ holy man that there are devils in this world."

With that Sam vaulted over from the embankment and tore through the parade grounds with a deep snarl. He charged at the man with the book. An ONI agent from the uniform, and was on him before the other marines had even turned the turrets. At the time Sam was lacking ammunition for his guns and proper armor for his body, so he had to use his hands to haul the reader of the ONI agent into the air and dash his brains against the asfault.

"He's dead," Sam spoke into his COM while also stairing down several 90mm High Velocity Cannons. "Hey, boss, if you want to do that possession thing again. Now would be a pretty good time."

Three Scorpions turned and fired amonst their ranks, causing most of the tanks to explode and mass panic amongst the marines.

Six was now in the battle, leading the Raiders and the rioters. She was not as fast as Sam, but she surpassed him with cunning and sublty. She fought with her knife, and stabbed it up to the hilt in the skull of the first marine who faced her. Another died, a driver, head cracked open by high calibur rounds, and then another, gunner this time, shot through the midriff.

The rioters threw their fire bottles and fire upon any marines who resisted. They started to loot the armories, stealing military grade weapons.

With their defensive line completely falling apart, and some of their tanks turning on them, the Colonel opened his detenation charge. Sam took note and lunged at him in complete wolf form. He bit down on his arm and shook the charge free. Sam roared in his face and gave a deep blow in his face.

Four hours later, with the ONI headquarters in flame, prisoners and documents secured, the Raiders enjoyed their newest victory in the bask of this paradice world.

_Life is simple._

_There is Light._

_There is Darkness._

_There is the void. _


	4. Angle

The howling sand found its way into everything.

Every crevice in in her breastplate, every void in her battledress, every moving part of her wargear. It was almost a ritual on this wasteland world, the daily regimen of cleaning a new sacrament to be performed alongside the usual rites of her convent laid down by the High Council and the Canoness. In corridors and rooms, in spaces large and small, the sand would accrete in drifts if not properly dealt with. It seemed that no amount of sweeping or electromagnetic fields could keep it entirely at bay.

Some of the sisters had joked that perhaps the sand was alive, that it might be some sort of mite-sized swarming animalthat craved warmth and shadowed corners. The planet's name was once Fenris Fields, a barely thriving outer human colony. When the Covenant fleet arrived, lead by the Prophet of Rage, the UNSC abandoned the planet and the population of fourteen-thousand in order to protect their 'Inner' colony.

Instead of glassing them, the Prophet of Rage chose to spare the humans if they submitted to his demands. They had to submit themselves fully to the Covenant Empire, in return they could still fully maintain colony in Covenant space and were provided with advanced Covenant technology to survive on their frontier world. In return, each family has to contribute towards the Prophet's favor. Each boy of the family had join the Covenant army as auxilliaries and the girls had to become his personal concubines. If they were strong enough or were unable to have Rage's children, then they were sent to serve under the Caronesses.

Elizia thought about her position as she struggled across the dunes, hunched forward against the force of the endless winds, the dust dragging at her heels and the gusts jerking the shemagh wrapped around her face. She wished her friend Aki was here.

Clever Aki, who was good at regicide and could send the luckiest into bankrptcy in a game of cards. Pious Aki who somethimes mumbled the words of the gods in her sleep. But she was dead now. Killed by something the like of which none of her fellow sisters had ever seen.

She shivered, despite the sullen, intimate heat of the day. The burden pulled against her arm, the cord around it twisting, and Elizia threw a glance back at the container. The metal drum was grey and grim, and it left a trail vanishing into the sandstorm, a line leading back towards the convent. Elizia squinted along the path she had left behind her.

How far was it now? Not for the first time, she cursed herself for leaving in such a hurry, without first securing her airtight helmet twinned to her Ranger-pattern power armor; the infra-red sensing lenses and heat controlled mechanisms within the helmet would have been a great luxuray for her at this moment.

But there had been no time. The order came with the demand for strick and instant obediance.

_"Go now,"_ the canoness had said, her voice hard and sharp as she spoke the human language. _"Take it and go." _

Elizia wanted to believe that it was some spark of courage their Mother saw in her that had rewarded the young woman with so important a task, but in her heart she knew it was not so. The role of custodian had fallen to Elizia simply because she was there when no one else was at hand; also she was the best. She was a special case. She had more experience then most of her veteran sisters, but she had no high rank, no great stories of courage to her name, barely a few scratches upon her armor. Her status might have been far elevated over the ordinary masses of the Covenant, but still Elizia was only a Human Militant, just an unworthy foot soldier in the Great Journey.

She dared to wonder; might this moment be the calling to her purpose? To her own greatness? She pushed the thought away. To consider such things was to aggrandise one's self, and that was a sin.

Her lot was to be at the command of the Prophet of Rage, the military geniuse of the Covenant whose cannon's lights illuminated the stars. Elizia had been induted into her order while still a child, recruited like the hundreds of other orphans abandoned on Fenris Fields, and like them she knew no life but one of constant service. Elizia and a legion of her kindred were all Sisters under the Caroness, the female equilivants of the Arbitors and they only serve under the Prophet of Rage.

What her Prophet needed in so distant and desolated a world as this had never been made clear to Elizia, but it was not her place to ask such questions. She was to do as she had been commanded to, and be grateful that she had so clearly defined a purpose in the universe. Other - commoners - were cursed with the need to search for meaning in their lives. Not so for Elizia; the Prophet was there to give significance to her as it saw fit. That burden, at least, was lifted from her.

At this moment, her purpose dragged behind her, forming a bolus of sand as it plowed through the small dunes, resolutely digging itself in and doubling the effort needed to move it. Elizia muttered a several curses through the cloth covering her mouth and turned back to the metal drum. Her focus rifle, mag-locked to her backpack, caught on the red robe over her shoulder, clattering against her light grey armor. She did not like the idea of not having a hand free to grab the weapon if she needed to, but the sluggish pace of her encumbrance overcame her concern.

In a moment, Elizia had the metal container in her arms, cradling it as one might hold a fat child in swaddling clothes. She tried not to think about what it contained. The emotional weight of her burden dwarfed its physical mass, and it pulled at Elizia's heart. It made her fearful, an emotion she seldom experienced on the battlefield. She never expected to bear such responsibility, but she had been chosen because she was different, because she could not be killed, and because the others were far off making sure she would not fall into human hands.

Burdened by this thought, the enormity of her duty fully asserted itself, and Elizia pressed on with renewed pace. With each step she spoke a word from the Great Journey, pacing herself through the relentless sands.

The storm robbed her of all but the most basic senses. A radar and digital compass on the screen of her HUD was the only thing she was willing to trust. In her time on this world, Elizia had learned that the sands and the strange rocky towers they shaped could confuse and disorient the unwary traveller. On the old planet maps, this laberynth was once called New Shilo, but after the Prophet's conquest it was reduced to dust and left to harsh elements.

It was difficult to reckon the passage of time. Little of the weak llight of the yellow-white Fenris Field sun penetrated through the swirling clouds, so charting the advance of the hours fruitless. Instead Elizia went on, one foot in front of another, watching the sand shift beneath her boots. More than once she fell, losing her footing as she crested one of the dunes, tumbling, then scrambling after the container when it rolled away, afraid it might split open or crush her. But it remained intact; the metal pod was crafted using technology from the days of the Forerunners, and would have easily survived a fall from orbit.

The desert played other tricks on her. At times, Elizia thought she saw shapes at the very edge of her perception, ghostly forms close by, but not so close that she could define them. Humans? Or was it just the dance of the dust in the wind and her tired mind making patterns where none existed?

She remembered the glimpses she had caught of the things that had come to kill her, killed Aki and maybe the rest. The humans called them the Flood, while the Covenant called them Parasites.

At first glance they looked like walking masses of flesh; disoriented by organized. Then they grew in size and power, taking control of a living host and contorting their bodies to do their bidding. Forget logic and reasoning with them, for all they cared about was infesting you and taking over your mind, body and soul.

She remembered the glimpses she had caught of the Parasites that had come to kill them, the forms that ended Aki and the others. In the gloomy corridors of her convent, the Parasites had first shut down the fusion reactor and plunged the outpost into darkness as the swarm took hold of them. Elizia did not know how, as the power core was locked away behind thick shield doors and protected by heavy plasma-turrets. Still, it had been done.

So, in the dark, then. She only had impressions of them, blink-fast moments captured by the electrical flares of muzzle flashes. Emaciated forms that instantly exploded with one bolt of energy, but were then replaced by twenty more; some smaller, while others were much larger.

The larger ones reflexed any illumination, like the glare from torches off tarnish metal or the muddy rainbow of oil on water. A mucas green glow following them wherever they went. Whips of flesh. Those things, and the screaming. Inhuman sounds of tortured air molecules being torn apart before splashes of searing light. Elizia remebered the purple after-images and her sisters being overwhelmed and infest permanently burnt into her retinas, even as she tried to forget the smell of burning and diseased flesh.

The sounds of the conflict, the skirl of plasma fire and the chattering of rifles, these had followed her out into the sands as she fled with the burden to tow. The noises were soon swallowed up by the clouds, along with any sight of the covent's tower, the keep and the outer walls. It felt like a lifetime ago.

She passed beyond an old market place. Burried vehicles and carts littered her path, and not too far ahead was a large sign promoting some kind of canned drink. Something Bull it read. This world to her was alien, anything human was. The only time she left the convent was never or going to the main vadican in a windowless wraith.

As she began to wonder if she was far enough away, the radar on her HUD transmitted a vibrating pulse down down the palm of her gauntlet. Elizia hesitated, studying it. Yes. She entered a bank, causing the artifact to scrape across the marbel flooring. She moved to back, pushing the artifact into the bank's vault and slamming the heavy, steel door shut. With her new found freedom, she figured to give herself a fighting chance.

Working as quickly as she could, Elizia found a spot out of the weak sunlight, not too far from the vault, and twisted a single grenade into the sand, turning it until it was almost hidden in the dust. She yanked the primmer pin and sprinted away to a safe distance. Like the sounds of death and conflict from the outpast, the muffled grunt of the detonation was flattened and consumed by the sandstorm.

The grenade had excavated a space large enough to serve as a foxhole, but the woman had other plans. With great care, she removed the metal container from the vault, laid it at the bottom hole and took a precise reading from her HUD; then, using the butt of her rifle as a makeshift shovel, Elizia started to burry the pod.

She only made two or three passes when she paused, her heart tighened in her chest. The Caroness thought about what she was doing, about the priceless value of the object she was sworn to protect, and it stopped her dead. Elizia imagined herself like a mother burrying the corpse of her child, suddenly afraid to turn another piece of earth over it. Was it right to do this? To bury such a treasure in an unknown sector where it might never be found again?

_"The gift from the Gods must never fall to the parasites."_ her convent mother, Kala'deem, last orders echoed in her head. "This is my last command to you."

Her last command. By now the alien was dead by now. She saw her as a mother, and the rest like her sisters. The images of her mother and her sisters being over-runned and consumed by the masses of flesh made her body tense, and heart beat faster.

The battle had been lost even before Elizia had left. She had known it was inevitable when the order was given. All life at the outpost was in the process of being devoured and becoming the parasite, and Elizia's job was the final action.

_"But what will happen to me?"_ Her first independent thought took hold and infected her mind, making her tremble. She started to think beyond her mission, beyond the order and on her own survival. She would bury the artifact... then what? Return to the outpost? Go to Rage's vatican, hoping she will have enough favor with the prophet to get off this world? Or will she have to sit on this rock and wait to starve?

Rescue, if any, would mean a long, tedious wait-

There was motion in the sand near her boots, it viberated more on the marble flooring. Something was in the city with her, lurking in the even shaping dunes.

Elizia exploded from the pit and rolled away, bringing up her focus rifle, working the barrel to clear it of any sand caused by her force of habit. Clumps of crystalized sand puffed out from the barrel as half-glimpsed shapes moved through the storm through the veil of the dust cloud, quickly closing in. Through her HUD, she saw pus color masses of flesh closing in on her position, with iron skulls and limbs made out of viens and dead metat.

The focus rifle cried out, and she made sure that every shot count, blowing a flame of light through the dust; opening frames that were once human ribcages. Others walked over their dead in silence, drawing a closing ring around her, advancing, cutting off any attempt to escape.

Elizia killed them - or so it seemed - and they melted into the sand, small green fires were there final graves, getting them out of her sights. Her nerves went numb, Elizia was almost shocked when she found her teeth chattering and body shacking.

The rifle ran dry, the battery unit was open and spent, and Elizia, the last survivor of her outpost, regretted that she did not save the last few rounds for herself. She turned the rifle around, now using the weapon as a club. One great thing about humans, they knew how to turn something into a weapon.

The smaller, sack-like, parasites attacked first. It was easy at first, one at a time and they came in small waves so they were easy to smash across the floor. But then they started to build and overwhelm her. Elizia soon found herself in the same position as Aki and her other sisters.

They tried to break through her armor. To her flash. To infect her and use her body as a vessel to spread their disease. She would not let that happen.

As she was being burried by the parasites, she felt a burning sensation on her right breast. The pain was intense, more then the scratches and bites that she was recieving. What was this? A new reason to live? her new found purpose?

Whatever it was, it gave her strength. Enough to beat back these embominations, letting her live a little longer and possibly living a little longer. With one powerful yell, the back exploded in firestorm. Flames of bright orange, blue and white dance and incinerated the parasites on her and the ones who were still coming.

She took a step forward and collapsed.

* * *

><p>The noise outside sounded like rainfall.<p>

Elizia remembered the sound from her years as a drifting orphan before the human bio-domes were turned into Rage's convents. Walking the empty streets as dark grey themselves over the towns. The rain, she remembered, would run down the faces of the human statues as if they were crying.

None wept now, so it seemed. None shed tears for the mottled mass of metal and flesh. Elizia could see it now. Aki, her mother and sisters going off and completing the Great Journey without her. Going off and seeing the other worlds, while her soul remained trapped on this world and forces to walk the deserts, alone, for her sins.

She let the parasites to steal the artifact and to pocess her body and mind. She will be deemed a heretic in her sisters eyes, and killed on the spot. Elizia figured that she deserved it, as if it was devine punishment. But she would latter find that a more powerful force had plans for her.

Elizia awoke to the sound of a crackling fire. She felt her surrounding more, feeling that she was on something soft and made out of some kind of synthetic material. She was now fully awake, and fully aware that most of her armor had burned or melted off. The only thing that was left on her was the inner most layer, and even that had several scorch holes in it.

Elizia noticed that everything about here was different. Her fair skin was a firy-orange and giving off a good amount of heat. Her brown hair was now ever changing shades of dark red to bright yellow. Finally, located on her right breast, were the numbers: 582. Engraved into her skin like a brand-burn, and signed in completely black ink.

Everything around her was burnt and covered with ash. The sand at her feet was melted into crued glass, while the skeletons of the parasites turned into dust with the most gentle of gusts. Everything was dead, but at least the artifact was still in tact.

She then saw motion in the sand outside. Elizia dug in the sand and pulled out a human weapon called double-barrel shotgun. From her training, she knew this weapon only had two shots and were good at medium range and deadly at close. She opened it. Two rounds. Better make them count.

Elizia brought them up to her chin and said a prayer. Suddenly, a snake-like dog parasite came out of the sand.

Without thinking, Elizia pulled both triggers on the shotgun and was splattered by blood and guts of the exploding parasite.

Then she ran, throwing the spent shotgun aside as she fled. The ground erupted beneath her. Another armor-headed snake-dog parasite had been was waiting for her. Elizia threw her arm over her face and screamed.

Her cries were drowned out by the sound of a assault rifle on full auto. Then a round found an exposed fuel pipe in the sand, and the entire building lit up, taking the parasite with it.

There was a sound behind her. A large, thankfully human figure was hefting a machinegun. Broad-shouldered, and packing grenade launcher from a belt holster worn low on his hip. As her vision cleared, Elizia realized the figure was not in Covenant armor or Marine uniform. His pants were buck-skin leather, well-worn and rough. A lightweight combat vest pegged him as some kind of military. So did the machinegun he was packing. He wore a equally as worn buck-skin poncho, and it was folded over his shouler like a cape.

The first time she saw that man, he was was covered in wet mud at five in the morning. Elizia would say later that the he was looking right through her, as if to say, _"What the hell are you looking at, jackass? Who do you think you are?"_ He was an average size for a man, ranging between six feet and six one. He was hurting, too. There was a limp in his walk, a wheezing when he breathed. Elizia didn't pay attention to that, she was looking the man in the eye.

"You alright, darlin?" said the silhouette.

"Fine. Alive," Elizia gasped. "You're not a marines?"

He stepped closer, into the light of the fire. Whatever part of him was supposed to be exposed was covered in dirt covered medical bandages. The only slit was for his eyes, but he made another so he could spit into the sand. "Not a marine? I guess I'll take that as a compliment. I'm the local law enforcement back on Hyperion, Marshal Umbra. And as you can tell I'm a long ways from home."

Elizia looked past him for a brief second and noticed that the artifact had a hole blasted through it. Her heart pace started to pick-up, causing her to breath heavily and her body to tense up even more. Elizia acted on pure as she tackled the Marshal down and held him by the throat. She might be a human, but she was trained to fight like an Sangheilian. She knew where to hit, how much pressure to use, and whether it was going to stun or kill.

"You destroyed the artifact!" She snapped at him. "It was a gift from the heavens, from the Forerunners, and you destroyed it!"

"You mean my escape-pod?" the Marshal asked. "I was on a job and the ship got attacked by Jackle pirates. It's not Forerunner made, if that helps you."

"Then you damned me twice. You'll die for that!"

Umbra then said, "You're beautiful."

Elizia was never called that before, and because of that she was unsure of what to do. Feeling the ease of her grip Umbra was able to get up and back on his path. No need of putting up a fight or wanting revenge.

Daylight was coming over the horizon, and she no longer had a reason to stay on this planet. So she decided to follow Umbra, much to his dismay.

"I don't like being followed." Umbra said.

"I want to come with you."

"No, you don't. Trust me."

She finally caught up to him. Wearing oversized clothes she found in a store. "... I hate it here."

"Then change it."

"I have nothing left. Let me come and be something."

"I can't make you into anything," Umbra said. "All I can do is offer my advise and hope you live by it."

"You speak like you're a god."

"Maybe I am."

"Our kind is blasphemous about the gods. We spread vile lies about them."

"Humans did not set out to insult beliefs, but we've had scientists who claimed they've disproven the existence of God, and others who proven you can't prove anything." he spoke carefully. Like one of the prophets would. "But it hasn't made any difference to any religions. The easiest way I can put this is... religion is different from faith."

Umbra suspected that she wanted him to agree her, to reassure her that gods could be both dead and eternal at the same time like some divine machine, to put some certainty back into her life. He knew that feeling. But the last thing he wanted was a theological argument with a former religious zealot.

"What does that mean?"

"It means you know something if even if you don't truly know something."

"That doesn't make sense."

**"**It doesn't have to make sense. It's faith. Faith. It's the flower of life in the field of darkness, that gave me the strength to carry on."

"Is that from your god?" she asked.

"Uh, no. Johnny Cash live at Fulsome Prison."

"What?"

* * *

><p><strong>Hey guys, hows it been. Sorry about the gap in chapters, it's just I've been busy with school, my computer crashed, and I got the complete Dawn of War series. So you can tell, I've been busy. Sorry.<strong>

**Another thing, sorry about the heavy hand on the religion aspect. It's just since the Elites are advanced bible bashers, I had to do something. I don't mean to offend anyone by it. Religion just happens to be a _very _touchie subject. So I plan to stay away from it as much as I can.**

**So read, enjoy and review. Next chapter will have Thel in it. So something to look forward to. **

**Later.**


	5. ShipMaster

**Cargo bay of the _Shadow of Intent_, unknown location.**

It was an ungly bastard, and the temptation to kill it where it stood was almost more than Elizia could withstand.

It was also pretty upset. Its arms flailed as if it was on some passionate Sangheli rant about polotics or religion or whatever they played instead of human sports, its cloverleafjaw snapped open and shut like a demented gintrap. Elizia watched from the shuttle's cargo bay with her rifle resting on her lap. Knowing the Sangheili, Elizia knew matters could get out of hand with a two-and-a-half-meter before they knew it. She was ready to burn the bastard before it crushed Umbra's husk.

He could actually speak their language, quite fluently actually; even if some soundsdefied the simple human jaw. Guess being a massless entity had its perks.

She wondered what he sounded like in to them. He was making mirroring gestures at the Ship Master, and although she could not hear the conversation it seemed to be working. The alien did that odd trick with its split mandibles, pressing the two sides together to mimic a human jaw and trying to force out more articulate sounds.

The hinge-head was now mirroring too. It was a good sign.

_"A good sign to a better deal."_ No, not a better deal: a victory sealing one. Elizia stepped down from the bay, careful to keeping her UR-20A close to her leg and she kept her breathing steady and calm, so she looked prepared but not threatening. Umbra glanced over his shoulder at her, seeming to read her thoughts with just a look.

_"I've never take my eyes off that thing. Gods, what is Andrew thinking?"_

She never hated the Sangheili, so to speak. Most of Umbra's Raiders were made up from groups who left the Covenant Empire. Either because they thought like she did and believed that the Great Journey, or they were betrayed by the Prophets and their own kind. Umbra gave them a reason, and intergrated them into the Raiders life. Showing and teaching them that there was more to life the just a gun. But this Ship Master did not leave right away, he left during the Covenant civil war. Though he fought in order to protect the universe, he fought with ONI and may have been corrupted by it.

She leaned against the hatch frame and waited, glancing at her watch to check New Sydney. Around her, the Raiders in her Harpie company were playing card games, cleaning their weapons, polishing their armor, or just talking about non-important topics. They were all wearing specialized, skin-tight bodysuits. They had used these suits many time before. They were formfitting, light-weight polymer body armor. They could deflect a medium-caliber round and had refrigeration/heating units that would mask their infrared signitures, and keep their core body temperatures at a neutral level even in the most extreme conditions.

Their intergrated helmets had encryptions and communications gear, a large Y-shape heads-up display, and thermal and motion detectors. Sealed tight, the unit had a ninety-minute reserve of oxygen to let them survive in vacuum. The suits were uncomfortable to first time Harpies, and they were tricky to repair in the field; and they were always in need in repair. But, what they lost in fashion and power, they gained in long life expectencies.

She heard one mumble. "Can't believe we're talkin to these bastards. On the gave of human."

"Would you rather fly around on seven main ships?" She said to the young newbie. "We need them, and they need us. What happened in the past, stays in the past."

A shaft of sunlight struck through the shielding that separated them from the endless vaccum of space.

Umbra gestured to get her attention and distracted her from the uncomfortable feeling of being on a Covenant ship. He walked over to her and the Harpies Runners, looking pleased with himself.

"The Ship Master wants a word," he said. "I told him you were the one who killed the Prophet of Rage. His english is pretty good, so keep it straight. And don't call him an Elite. Use the proper name. It matters to them."

Elizia pushed herself away from the bulk head of her ship with her hip. "I already knew that. So what should I call the individual, _Ship Master_."

"You can if you want," Umbra put on a serious face, which seemed pointless considering the bandages covered it. "They say he's honorable, but I didn't realize how honorable."

"Is that going to be a problem?"

"Might be a bonus. He is charge of the entire Fleet of Retribution. Play our cards right, we could get a few more ships."

"It must be our birthday." Elizia was not sure when it really was. So she just figure to picked the day they met. "Maybe they got some schematics in some dusty, old drawer or something."

"Come on, don't keep him waiting."

"How is he with women?"

"Curdious, I think." Umbra beckoned her to follow. "He presents himself as a true gentlemmen. So I won't be shocked if he attempted to kiss your hand. One more thing, I know you have a history with the Sangheili. But don't let those emotions get out, we need him alive and not extra-crispy."

She walked up to the Ship Master, steeling herself not to call him an Elite or a sick slave-trading bastard.

Elizia was only a head taller than the average person, and at six feet she was not used to having to looking up at anybody. But the Ship Master towered two and a half meters above her like a monument in white, shark-design armor. For a moment she found herself looking into a disturbingly disfigured face before on the black eyes, small nostrils just below them, and a pair of cybernetic lower mandibles. Guess this one was the one the UNSC nicknamed 'Half-Jaw.

"Elizia," Umbra said cautiosly, looking back and forth between her and the Ship Master. "Let me introduce you to Rtas'Vadumee. Fleet Admiral of the Fleet of Retribution, a loyal ally to the true leader of Sangheilos and will hang the traitors from spikes."He seemed to be quoting very carefully, glancing at the Sangheili to make sure he got it right. He gave her a do-not-say-anything-draft look. "Meaning he's a friend of the Arbiter and hates the True Sons."

"Pleasure," Rtas sniffed again. Osman could smell him, too. It was a faintly leathery scent, like the seats of a new car. It was not unpleasant. "You smell of flowers. It is very lovely."

He probably ment her perfume... that she put on two weeks ago. Elizia forgot how good their sense of smell was.

"Charmed. I'm Elizia. I'm a ship master of the Harpies companies." Rtas got the point. "So I keep my word. May we talk?" She gave Umbra the look for them to trade places.

Umbra nodded and turned to walk away. Rtas gave a cough, clearing his alien throat. "It is an honor to finally meet the woman who killed the San'Shyuum of Rage. Tell me, how did he die?"

She could still remember how her former master grabbed her leg, most of his flesh burned and pink, beging for mercy and forgiveness. In the end, she gave him that... the same could not be same for the Hyperion militia, however. She just answered, "Without dignity."

"I see, sounds like him." Rtas gave a small, deep chuckle. "Your leader is an... interesting man. He gave us very valuable information about the True Sons weakness we can manipulate."

"So how do you plan on killing 'Telcam and the other traitors?"

"I have the most majority of the navy now. A good amount of loyal soldiers, too. But I have to ask, why are you doing this?"

Rtas was testing her. He was smart, fought against and along side humans during the war; so he had an assumption of what to expect. Telling him the full truth would gain his trust, but make them look like they are to be taken advantage of in the end. Lie and they might soon find themself with a second enemy and an energy swords in the back. So it all came down to telling Rtas the truth in certain quantities.

"What if I was to tell you that the True Sons is human made?"

Rtas jerked his head back, and his field marshals talked amongst themselves; she had them hooked. "And why would they do that? The traitors sides with the humans against their own, after we fought and bled along side them?"

"It is not the everyday human doing this, or honorable ones like Lord Hood. The humans are now being lead by their version of the San'Shyuum. The group is called ONI, and their leader is Admiral Margaret Orlenda Parangosky."

"The Office of Naval Intelligence. I know that name far too well, I used to fight off their Imps and Deamons." He must have ment the ODSTs and Spartans. "But why would their leader help the traitors?"

"Attacking an enemy when they're down is what humans do best. Especially when they hit them in the family jewls." Elizia said. "Your empire breaks apart from the in fighting, and then ONI and the UNSC come swooping in like vultures to eat up the remains. Acting like blood heroes in the end."

"I understand," Rtas sighed. The amount of grief and stress in it was almost off putting. "Tell your leader that he has his audience with the Arbiter, but first you need to tell me why are you doing this? Why turn against your own."

"Humans kill human, easy as that."

"Were it so easy?" Rtas already knew about the human's many, bloody wars. That answer was not going to earn his trust.

"Fine. I'll be blunt. We need ships."

Rtas looked at the small Runners that the Harpies Companies were infamous for. They were small space-to-planetary crafts. Some were twenty to thirty meters in length, others stretched to fourty, and they all had specific war paint to their specific squadron. These ships had a very slick design, and relied more on speed and stealth then staying for an all out fight.

"You are joking?"

"I wish." Elizia sighed. "All of our ships are either fixed up zombies, bought for next to nothing, or we flat out stole them. We only have eight battleships: the_ Hartford_, the _Moscow_, the _Jakarta_, the _San Paulo_, the _Seoul_, the _Karachi_, the _Warsaw_, and the _Washington_. Plus two main figrates, the _Romulus_ and _Remus,_ and then our main flagship, the_ Radio Nowhere_. That makes up our first, and only, fleet. We help you with the True Sons, Sanghelios helps us with ONI."

"Why do you decide to help us then? You humans have strong opinions against our kind."

"Humans also gamble on their futures. Umbra just figures to bet on your side."

Rtas did not take the time to think over the cementing deal. He knew that the old ways were not working any longer, so maybe this man named Umbra had something to take their place. He smiled, as if he knew that her request was coming and said, "Done."


	6. Arbiter

**Private Quarters of Abiter Thel'Vadam, Vadam Keep, State of Vadam, Sanghelios. August 28, 2553 in the human calender.**

Nothing had really changed since the Covenant had fallen, just the series of different events that both favor and worked against the State of Vadam, but Thel'Vadam despaired the thought of Sanghelian civil war. Too much blood has been split for some reason most of his race still did not understand. Now an insurrectionist group, calling themselves the True Sons of Sanghelios, lead by Jul'Mdama no big surprise, were spreading lies to the smaller state.

Thel knew that the old ways were dieing off, and the other clans were too stubborn or too affraid of the True Sons to do anything about it.

"The more things change, the more they stay the same." he said, fiddling with a human toy that they called a rubic cube. "A human whelp told me that. Said it had something to do with how we like to think change has happen, in reality, things remained the same state."

Fie did not say anything. She was still looking out of the window, jaws moving slightly as if she was talking to herself, and passed a stylus from hand to hand. The sound of youngsters squabbling in the courtyard below rose on the breeze as her brother Nexus waded in to restore order, yelling about discipline and dignity.

"And now I feel like I am talking to myself," Thel said. He stopped short of seizing Fie's shoulders and making her look at him. He was not that kind of a man anymore though, and within the keep, her word was law. "I am the only one who can see that this is what the humans want? Once our colonies kill each other, they will swoop in like maggots and consume the remains."

"Thel, we face far more immediate problems than humans or Jul's treachery," Fie said. "I want you to look at something."

She stepped back from the window and gestured to him with the kind of weary patience she reserved for small children. Thel humored her, but he did love the way she held herself.

From the third-story window, he had a good view of the landscaping that surrounded the keep. To the east, the hills were stepped with terraces of fruit vines, designed to catch the most sun they could. Looking west, he could see fields in neat mosaic of green and grey-blue on eith sides of the lake. In the far north were the blurry white moutain tops of the vast Vadam mountains. All set against the gold midmorning sky, it looked exactly like every image he had ever seen of this landscape; it had not changed in all of the years he had been away, and generations of his clan had worked hard to make sure it did not. He had every expectation that it would look that way to his childrens' children and their grandchildren too.

The Sangheli might have been betrayed and divided - temporarily - and their faith upended, but Sanghelios never changed.

"Thank you," Thel said, quiet and content. "But I don't have time for this. I have to go to the kaidon's assembly. The other chiefs are going to be there soon."

"Then you make time," Fie snapped. "A world needs more than warriors to survive. The San'Shyuum knew how to make their servant races weaks - they confined us to one skill." Nobody called them the Phophets now. It was too painful, but it was also a hard habit to break. "And, of course, we lap that up, vain fools that we are. We all want to be warriors, nothing else. Now we have no engineers, no traders, no scientists,-"

"No culture. We are dieing as a species, and no one can see it."

"Yes. Soon enough, we can no longer feed ourselves."

"I left the estate management to you." Thel had not noticed any food shortages. It had only been an entire season since he had killed the last treacherous Prophet of the High Council and every certainty in life had evaporated, but there will always be food on the table. "I know better than to interfere with my wife's business."

Fie drew back her arms, head thrust forward a little in that don't-you-dare posture. He had not seen her this angry for a long time.

"That's the porblem!" She hissed. "Thousands of years doing the San'Shyuum bidding, each species made as dependent as children, and we never asked ourselves what would happen if it all fell apart. The San'Shyuum made us reliant on_ savages_. Now we have to relearn their skills just to restore basic communications. We built_ starships_, Thel. We were a spacefaring culture long before the San'Shyuum arrived and turned us into their personal army."

Thel could still hear the youngsters in the courtyard. Sticks cracking against sticks.

"No, not like that!" Nyhlus, Fie's brother, roared his head off, probably putting on angry threatrics. "Control yourself! If that had been a blade, you would have taken your own arm off!"

Thel heard a loud thwack - followed by absolute silence - as is Nyhlus had rapped one of his children with his dummy weapon. There was no yelping or sniveling. It might even have been one of the girls; Nyhlus taught them all basic combat skills, the young females of the keep as well as the young males. Daughters very rarely served on the front lines, but they had they had to be able to defend the keep if the worst happened.

Fie was right, as usual. Every Sangheli judged himself solely by his combat skills. Thel definitely could not remember any of his brothers saying they wanted to be an artisan or a cook or a adminstrator. The shame would have been unbearable, and yet keeps and assemblies had to be run and food had to be had stopped thinking about how the Covenant kept itself running a long time ago.

"I see your point," Thel said. "Can't we hire engineers?"

"No, we can't," Fie said. "We might find Kig-Yar traders willing to do business, but do you really think Jiralhanae can maintain our technology now the Huragok have fled? And even if our forces wiped out the of their faithfuls, do you really think their kind will forgive us?"

There were still a good number of loyal Unggoy and Jiralhanae around, weren't there? They could easily learn to be farmers or factory workers. Or engineers. It was simply a matter of giving them clear instructions and making sure they didn't drug themselves into a stupor or start too many fights.

But many of the old fashion Ship Masters and Field Marshals would say that is was far easier to vaporize every living thing on a planet then reform an entire culture from scratch.

The humans were now startint to recolonize some of their planets now. If a truce was going to work between their two worlds, then he had to unify the other clans at a faster rate.

Thel looked down over the windowsill on the stairwell to make sure that it was not Ashar or Talon who had recieved the smack around the ear from Nyhlus for careless swordsmanship.

_"I'm doing it for them. Not for revenge. They need a father right now." _It was hard not to show his children favor, doing that was not allowed in Sangheili culture amongst the males. Thel'shad to make their own way in the world, judged solely on their merits and without any assumptions based on their bloodlines. But those were old traditions, and this was a time for change. Thel never knew whom his father was, and he would be damned if he was not there for his own.

Sangheili mothers might have not been front line fighters, but they certainly held real power, the knowledge and selection of bloodlines. Being a Sangheili male could sometimes be a lonely and uncertain one.

Fie was no exception during the time of the Covenant. She was the daughter of a Field Marshal and a Sha'hil, the Sangheili version of a senator, from a lesser clan who had ties with the Vadam. Usually these kind of political marriages were filled with cold and bitterness attitudes towards each other, which then end in bloody betrayl or debautury. But what could Thel say, he was crazy about Fie. She was his most loyal and trustworthy advisors. Like a Field Marshal, with benefits, she always gave enough insite to help him win a battle.

But this was not a battle against the humans or a synister race like the San-Shyuum. It was his own kind, who chose to be stuck in the past.

"What do the other Sha'hil say to this?" Thel asked.

"Most are the in favor of the reformation, but they are affraid of the True Son's fleets." Fie said, still playing with her stylus. "Were in a rut caused by fear, and I'm affraid we cannot do anything until the True Son's either take over or are destroyed."

Thel ran a hand over his bald, leather head and sighed. "If bad comes to worse, I want you and the children to retreat to one of the colonies."

"I will never leave you. I'm your wife. And you are the general. My place is at your side." Fie snaked her way to Thel's side. Even in this state of chaos and uncertainty, it was nice to experience these small ounces of peace.

A Phantom flew over the estate, arced around, and landed just outside of the main gates. It was studded with Sangheili symbols plastered in gold.

"Are we expecting Rtas?" Fie asked.

Thel and Fie had to pass through the courtyard to get to the Vadumee's transport. The youngsters were still doing weapons drill, taking the wooden sticks very seriously as Nyhlus stalked up and down in front of them, tapping his baton on the side of his thigh as he watched the parries and thrusts. He gave Thel and Fie a nod and did not break his stride. None of the children looked their way, either. Not only their own.

_Focus_. It had to be taught and reinforced from the state.

They were almost at the gate when Nyhlus called out. "Tell Rtas that he still owes me money."

Fie found that funny. She looked over his shoulder. "I don't think he needs me to remind him of that."

Next to Thel and Rtas, Nyhlus was the most decorated warrior in the Vadam territory. Cool under pressure, Nyhlus has an uncanny ability to find an enemy's weakness and exploit it. Though his methods aren't as brutal as Thel's, he would not hesitate to efficiently and thoroughly eradicate anything or anyone that stands in his way. He also does not share most grudge for humanity. Instead he sees their potential. He highly respects their adaptive ways, and saw it an honor to help take back the Ark.

Unlike most Sangheili, Nyhlus fancies himself in facial markings, after seeing old photographs of human 'indians' wearing it before going into battle. His was an intragent design of white paint that was both impressive and intimadating.

"Did you raid the scrapyards? Making a virtue of frugality, are we?"

"Joke is on you, Arbiter. It used to be yours." Rtas always did his best to get the last word over Thel. Even if that ment still calling him Arbiter. "You have guests for tonight."

Behind Rtas was a sight neither he nor Fie ever thought they would see this soon. Humans on Sangheilios.

There were only three of them. Two males, one female. The first one was the leader, clearly based on how clean and neat his suit was. His was a simple three piece suit. Black jacket, pants and tie with a red undershirt. He was wrapped head to toe in gause and wore a worn leather hat.

The same could not be said about the other male. He had reddish-brownish skin, and his left eye was gone and replaced with an elegent eyepatch, having a gold-like lining and a chain as one of the straps. His black hair was like a mane that fell past his shoulders, and has not been brushed in years. His clothes were the naval officer unforms that Thel had seen before, but the way he wore them was sloppy and it told that he just wore it as a gimic.

The female was lovely, for human standards. She was wearing a black lace dress with a dark red corset as a top. She wore a fancy, fur laced coat that just hung on her shoulders. Though he outfit was made to show off her body, Thel was more focused on how much fire was in her eyes. Not like the firy determination of a warrior, but that of pure hatred.

"Thel'Vadam, I pressume." The leader of the humans said.

"Should I know you?" Thel slightly cocked his head to the side, as if he was trying to study him.

"You should. I gave you very valuable information on ONI and the Covenant during the can just call me by my allias, Umbra." He spoke with a tone of voice that was both friendly, but also gave the sign that he was expecting something huge in return. "I've heard that you a little insurrectionist problem. Maybe me and my Raiders can help you. But at a price."


End file.
